


A Star to Steer By

by fauxrugged



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alien Sex, Anal Sex, Bottom James T. Kirk, F/M, Hand Jobs, Love, M/M, Masturbation, Mind Meld, Minor Character Death, Multi, Polyamory, Romance, Science Fiction, Section 31 (Star Trek), Semi-Public Sex, T'hy'la
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2020-10-26 06:27:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 88,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20737703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fauxrugged/pseuds/fauxrugged
Summary: A mysterious, heavily encrypted message from beyond the grave leads Kirk, Spock and the Enterprise crew deep into uncharted space, and into the middle of a very dangerous game with players intent on fulfilling their own agendas, no matter the cost.Complicating matters for the young captain is an inconvenient crush on a certain Vulcan who's already spoken for.  Navigating the course of true love never did run smooth.Set following the third Kelvin Timeline movie, Star Trek Beyond.  This is my 'fix-it-fic' making up for both the lack of a fourth Star Trek movie and the lack of gays in space.  Enjoy!  (This story will update weekly, usually on Sunday afternoons PST)





	1. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing

If James T. Kirk, captain of the starship Enterprise, was ever feeling introspective, worried or just plain bored, he inevitably found his gaze searching out the graceful planes and curves of his vessel. Either a model of it, a holo picture of it, or hell, even a fuzzed out image on a PADD would do. This time, his ruminations were soothed by the upswept nacelle struts and expanse of the underside of the saucer section of the USS Enterprise (NCC-1701-A), Constitution class, docked and silent like a sleeping dragon, awaiting her final touches before a full complement of crew boarded her in an Earth standard week’s time.

But Jim felt a gnawing hole, somewhere in the pit of his stomach, even as his heart beat faster upon seeing the new ship, the bussard collectors on the front of her nacelles glinting electric blue in the reflected starlight of the space station. A frisson of anticipation shivered over him. He still felt it, despite being marooned, nearly choked to death, dying from radiation poisoning, being _ actually _ resurrected, crash landing on a planet controlled by a human driven insane by grief and vengeance, all the ridiculousness that happened after...despite...everything.

Nothing compared to the realization that here he, Jim Kirk, was born under an inauspicious star (or wormhole, really), aimless ‘til that fateful day when Captain Pike walked in on him splayed out over a bar table, bleeding over every surface, just a regular asshole trying to figure shit out as he went along, suddenly facing off against the universe at large. Really large. Too large. He turned his eyes from the windows of the viewing gallery and walked briskly away, silent with the plush carpet underfoot, feeling vaguely like an imposter.

The party had been fun. Honestly, a lovely surprise, and it still brought a warmth to his cheeks to think of it, even sixty days later. A great idea concocted by Bones ‘Mr. Sensitive’ who had apparently approached Sulu and the rest of the command crew who acted as co-conspirators to throw him a bash for his big 3-0. Noisy, protracted, with free food and even freer flowing booze, Jim had smiled and laughed along with everyone, glad just to be alive. Everyone needed a good excuse to let loose and decompress after the whole Krall/Edison debacle. Calling it a debacle undermined the seriousness that Yorktown - that damn snow globe in space, just waiting to break - very nearly did break, flinging its millions of souls into deep space. A surprise birthday party for the youngest captain in Starfleet’s history, its flagship’s commander, hero and saviour, resurrected for “Christ’s” sake, like Jesus.

Jim’s strangled laugh curtailed his wandering thoughts. He should be grateful, shouldn’t he? He had everything a young man facing his third decade could wish for, dream of, right? Then why was the only thing he could fixate on in the maelstrom of his thoughts a tall figure in a richly patterned navy tunic, the warmth of that body radiating through the heavy fabric and seeping into Jim’s left shoulder and arm as they stood side by side with the rest of the crew, gazing at their future? The only thing.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Jim muttered out loud to himself. “What are you in, high school? Grow up, you infant!”

Then he chuckled again, genuinely amused this time, the phrasing bringing a warmth to his face. Bones! Bones would make it all better. Jim’s wandering feet took themselves along sweeping galleries, shining hallways and glass covered bridges in the direction of the Starfleet hospital. Bones never objected to a spot of day drinking, if Jim weedled enough.

The hospital was buzzing with activity as Jim surveyed the triage area, walking purposefully past the front desk as if he belonged there and through the automatic doors towards the line of doctors’ offices. Dr. Leonard McCoy’s office door was open, and Jim peeked in around the door frame only to see an empty chair pushed away from a standard issue desk piled on one side with PADDs, some still glowing with information on their transparent screens. A shelf with some containers filled with dubious liquid and old timey, honest to goodness books! lined one short wall, with various personal effects and a potted plant arranged on a table below it. Oddly comforting and homey, like the doctor himself.

“Don’t you have anything else better to do?” the chronically curmudgeonly growl behind him made Jim’s face break into a grin. 

“Aw, Bones, you missed me!” Jim laughed.

“I saw you yesterday,” McCoy intoned, deadpan, and pushed past his captain into his office. Sighing over the PADDs, he didn’t look around but said, “Why are you here, Jim?”

“Do I need an excuse to hang out with my best friend?” Jim threw himself into an empty chair and grabbed at the nearest item not nailed down, a stress ball.

“No, you don’t, but you also know that Starfleet Medical, goddamn slave drivers, has me on overnight call for the next week before we ship out so,” he grabbed the ball out mid-air that Jim was tossing carelessly above his head, “I’m _ really _ busy. So unless you have a really good reason to see me, like you’re dying of LPC - I don’t see any blueberry stained lesions developing - or have been bitten by an interspatial parasite - wait, how psychotic are you feeling…” he peered at Jim, brows knotted in his characteristic frown.

“Okay, okay, enough!” Jim threw his hands up in defeat. “I give up, I’m sorry. It’s just…” he heaved a loud sigh, “I can’t stop thinking…”

“Uh-oh. Jim Kirk is thinking. Has a wormhole opened up? Is this monstrosity of a space station under attack again?”

“Shut up! I’m serious. I need your help.” Jim stared at his friend, bright blue eyes imploring.

McCoy pursed his lips and gave in, irritated that he could never actually say ‘no’ to one Jim Kirk, playboy of Starfleet Academy, when he turned on his 1000 watt charm.

“Fine. Fine! I’ll meet you at 1900 hours when I get my break. Until then,” he whipped the stress ball at Jim’s head, “Stay outta trouble!”

Jim slunk out of McCoy’s office, flashing one of the nurses a brilliant smile, which made an attractive blush creep up her neck from her ample decolletage, as he passed.

1900 hours. 1900 hours. That was three hours to kill before he could sink down into a Romulan ale-soaked puddle from the bottle Scotty had purloined for him from the back of the bar at his birthday party. His feet took him in the direction of the crew quarters and as he walked, he tried to line up his thoughts, ordering them in terms of type, significance, and level of panic induced. He was so overwhelmed by his perturbation that he did not even notice, as he ambled along a brightly lit corridor, thoughts and vision turned inward, a tall figure dressed in the royal blue of the science division heading in the oncoming direction directly into his path.

“Captain!”

Colliding with Spock was like colliding with a brick wall, or an iron bar, or some other immovable object, albeit an irrationally attractive one. There was a blur of blue uniform, pale skin and dark hair and Jim saw stars burst behind his eyes.

“Spock!” Jim gasped, winded, one hand up to steady himself on the only thing around, which was the shoulder of his first officer. Spock visibly twitched, his face betraying a hint of uncomfortableness, but his hand reached up to Jim’s elbow to steady him nonetheless.

“Are you all right, Captain?” he inquired solicitously.

“Yeah, yeah, fine. I’m fine, I’m…” Jim looked into the Vulcan’s deep brown eyes, suddenly aware of their relative proximity.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry!” he spluttered, backing up and whipping his hand off Spock’s shoulder as if burnt, which metaphorically at least, it was. “I wasn’t um...I wasn’t watching where I was going, sorry. Ahem.” Jim cleared his throat in embarrassment.

“It is of no import, Captain. I am glad you are not otherwise injured.” Spock spoke calmly, the arm holding his PADD at ease by his side. Jim hazarded a glance at his face again, willing himself to calm down.

“Um--”

“Captain--”

“No, no, you first.”

“After you. I insist.”

“Uhh…” Why was it always so hard with Spock? Some days were better, definitely better, when Jim was eyeball deep in some emergency situation, the ship was on fire, they were crashing through the atmosphere of some hostile alien planet, or fighting tooth and nail for their very lives and the lives of their crew. Jim didn’t have to think then. Didn’t have to deliberate and worry over his idiotic thoughts like a dog worrying at a bone. He could just react, all pure instinct and adrenalin. That’s where he shone the brightest, after all, in the thick of a tornado of chaos, riding a tsunami of danger like a champion Olympic surfer.

Spock quirked an eyebrow, which somehow made everything worse.

“So...ready to ship out soon? I received the final clearances this morning, and you should have been forwarded the crew rosters, yeah? I noticed several new recruits who’d completed their training here in Yorktown, must be exciting for them to push off from this rock, globe...station, thing. Oh, and thanks for collecting all the mission reports from the departments and overseeing the inquiry. That took a while, didn’t it, the inquiry, not your collection of the reports. Um...by the way, Uhura told me you’d put off work to come to my birthday party, which was nice, um, I’ve been meaning to thank you...but obviously, obviously, you weren’t just there for me, but all of us...the crew, I mean...and her, of course…” Jim stuttered to a halt, ears burning. Jim Kirk recently found himself either babbling at Spock, or shouting at Spock, nothing in-between.

To his relief, Spock didn’t even raise that goddamn eyebrow at his sudden outpouring of verbal diarrhoea, and instead answered smoothly, his face betraying nothing he might have actually been thinking about Jim at that very moment.

“Very good, Captain. Yes, I have received the crew roster as well as the ship manifest. I was actually on my way to oversee the delivery of photon torpedos to Deck 13, if you would care to accompany me?” Spock inclined his head in the direction of the docking terminal.

Jim suddenly realized that what with one thing and another, he hadn’t yet stepped foot on the new Enterprise-A. His face flushed with anticipation, all awkwardness completely forgotten. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go!” Jim slapped Spock hard on the shoulder, rocking the Vulcan slightly sideways, turned on his heel while massaging his hand and marched down the hallway. “Come on, Spock!”

Spock, after a second’s hesitation, straightened his head, and trotted quickly after his captain.

The ship had that ‘fresh from the factory’ smell. Her corridors practically glittered with the warm, recessed lighting glowing from curved aluminum panels, and the soles of Jim’s boots squeaked on the dark, polished floor. They stepped into a turbolift and as the door slid closed with a pneumatic hiss, Spock said, “Deck 13”, into the air.

“Whoa! It’s voice activated!” enthused Jim, looking around as the flashing deck lights painted his face in alternating hues.

“Yes, Captain. The turbolifts on the Enterprise-A are equipped with auditory receivers, a top of the line upgrade, negating the use for manual input. However,” he gestured at the instrument panel adjacent to the door, “they are nevertheless outfitted with manual override functionality should it be required.”

“Awesome!” Jim grinned at Spock, and was rewarded with an infinitesimal lifting of the right side of Spock’s mouth in reply.

They walked companionably along the gently curved hallways of Deck 13, Jim taking it all in with glittering blue eyes, excitement pouring off him like swirls of dry ice overflowing a container, nodding greetings to the occasional technician or station personnel they passed. Spock followed close at Jim’s elbow, as stoic as a wooden post and just as emotional. After a while, Spock slowed his gait and halted outside a nondescript door, flicking on his PADD with the push of a button on the side. After a brief glance, he lifted long, elegant fingers to the keypad and entered the door code. Jim was momentarily distracted from the newness of his surroundings, covertly appreciating his first officer’s professional execution of everything he did, moving in this space like he was part of it.

The Enterprise and her crew, the command team like two sides of the same coin - one side scratched up, dirty and probably previously dropped in the mud more than the other side - were a matched set, a well oiled machine, a dream team. ‘To infinity and beyond?’ Jim wondered, eyes staring into the middle distance as he recalled that ancient quote from somewhere, he couldn’t remember exactly where.

The door slid open to the sounds of broad Scottish brogue yelling out instructions, answering for a cargo shipment - currently sitting like a very large, organized and lethal cube of stacked death in potentia in the middle of the torpedo bay - and scolding a small, indignant alien down from the top of the container.

“Smitty, get the pallet jack out, it’s behind the aft shaft, and grab Nelson to come help yeh cart the payload away...Aye, I’m Lieutenant Commander Scott, at yer service, what, sign here? No problemo...Git down! It’s no’ a climbing frame!”

Scotty was the heart, soul and sometimes incomprehensible mouth of the Engineering department, and Jim Kirk would not trust his lady to anyone else.

“Ah, Captain, great timing! Just received the shipment...there,” gesticulating, “...and that’s the last o’ it. Stick around for a dry run? We were gonna power up the weapons array,” a side glance at Spock’s disapproving brow made the usually loquacious Scotsman hesitate but a moment, “just a dummy test run, to flex our lady’s formidable guns, ye ken,” he continued with a flourish of a curled bicep, grinning at Jim’s delighted laugh.

“Lead on, MacDuff!”

“Captain, I have been studying the history of colloquialisms in Standard and its predecessor, the English language, out of interest--” Spock remarked.

“Have you now, Spock,” Jim interjected.

“Yes, Captain. And did you know that the phrase, ‘lead on, MacDuff’, is actually a misquotation of a line in a play by William Shakespeare, a 16th Century playwright, called MacBeth, where the actual phrase is--”

“Don’t tell me, I know this one…’Lay on, MacDuff’?”

“Excellent, Captain, may I say that--”

“Oi! Command team, are ye comin’ or not?”

Their easy banter, facilitated by the pleasure of a new ship, a new home among the stars, and adventures yet untold, followed the staccato of their footsteps as the three men left the crowded chamber of the torpedo bay, and all receded into the background hum of a ship hard at work.

As Jim jogged to the officer’s mess, the three plus hours having flown by in the enthralling bowels of his new ship, the euphoria slowly dissipated, to be replaced once more by the nagging ruminations that refused to leave his brain for any measurable length of time. He flushed in embarrassment when he remembered how he just couldn’t seem to say anything intelligent in Spock’s presence, how even simple statements came out garbled and rambling. And even when they were chatting so innocuously about idioms and Shakespeare, of all things, he bitterly admitted that the only plausible reason for Spock to even touch on the subject was because Uhura must have passed on her love of xenolinguistics and recommended that Spock study old Earth languages. It definitely was not because Jim loved Shakespeare. His mouth pursed into a moue of distaste at his obvious misinterpretation of the facts. On top of everything he had survived, the trials by fire, earning the captain’s chair through white-knucked determination and a steadfast refusal to give up or even die, he’d had to grow up damn fast. But here he was now, late to meet his best friend whom he’d cajoled out of a busy schedule, because he had been loathe to leave his crush’s side. It was his subordinate, someone he used to hate, someone with a goddamn long-term girlfriend, for crying out loud. All this mooning was getting on his nerves. Jim shook his head to clear it, and took the steps two at a time in an effort to lessen the biting remarks he knew were waiting for him at his destination.

* * *

Spock stood, still as a statue, contemplating the deafening silence that always seemed to descend when the force known as Captain James Tiberius Kirk left any room. In his mind’s eye, he could still see the man, a crackling ball of pure energy, always animated, always noisy, always moving through space with sharp, expansive movements. His physical presence was as golden as his hair, shimmering in the gleam of artificial suns. His personality was as magnetic as a warp signature, emblazoning the midnight sky with a trail of radiant, scintillating particles. Who wouldn’t be powerless against such a force of nature? Who wouldn’t be compelled to follow him to the ends of the universe and back? He thought of the Enterprise crew, especially of its commanding officers, of the fierce loyalty Captain Kirk engendered in his people in just a few short years, and of his own fierce loyalty and dare he mention it, friendship with the man.

Spock’s life was as constant as a clear, flowing stream before the landslide known as Jim Kirk careened over a cliff and covered that stream in a deluge of mud, rocks and unsuspecting trees, uprooted from the surprisingly silty foundations that made up the foothills of Mount Spock. If the half-Vulcan had learned anything in his ongoing association with the captain, it was that there were hitherto unplumbed depths to his human side that Jim was dredging right up to the surface for everyone to see. Even Nyota - fierce, capable, beautiful, and passionate - did not test his limits to the levels Jim did; did not ‘push his buttons’, as the old human saying went, like the captain did, especially in the heat of battle. She was a cool draft of water, whereas Jim was the burn of liquid nitrogen, blazing ice blue in his ruthlessness.

Spock ran his fingers over the brand new console installed in the hydroponics lab of the Science wing of the Enterprise, feeling its edges almost imperceptibly, and imagined its clean white sides charred black with electrical fire, the transparent aluminum screen inexplicably cracked and splintered. He could practically smell the burning wires and circuit boards and hear the wail of the red alert claxons overhead. In the heat of battle...he wondered what it would feel like to bend the captain over that console and...destroy him? Choke him, hold him down. Iron fingers gripping around a soft, quivering, human throat. He shuddered with a memory he longed to suppress, the pain of guilt and loss...loss of control...loss of so much...too much.

Suddenly keenly aware that he was fondling an inanimate object while entertaining memories, such tactile memories, of choking Jim, Spock visibly started and pulled his hand back to his side. He must be overtired. Meditation was in order to cleanse his mind of those wholly inappropriate, distracting thoughts. He left the room abruptly, automatic door sliding silkily closed on his retreating form, leaving behind a sensation that Spock did not dare to articulate.

* * *

“Hurry up and finish your drink, Princess,” McCoy drawled, looking at the chronometer on his PADD, “I need to return to the ICU by 2100, and you’ve already taken too many liberties.”

“Don’t be like that, Bones, you know you’d rather be with me drinking this fine…” Jim squinted myopically at the half empty bottle, “um...vintage Romulan ale, than stuck monitoring a bunch of residents doing fiberoptic intubations or whatever torture you put your patients through.”

“Be nice,” the doctor chided, without much heat. “Why _ are _ you so adamant on destroying what few brain cells you have left, anyway, Wonder Boy? Was the hobgoblin mean to you again?” he grinned at his joke, but when McCoy saw the expression on Jim’s face, it quickly faded to be replaced by a dawning look of horror.

“Oh god. Don’t tell me...don’t you dare...how the…” he drew a weary hand over his face, “How the hell do you manage to get yourself into the worst situations possible?! Dammit, Jim! I already worry myself sick about the possibility of you getting blown up, or shot at, or...or irradiated, not to mention…” waving a hand up and down in the general direction of Jim’s immune system, “your extremely extensive list of allergies. Now I have to worry about you being emotionally compromised by your first officer too?!”

“I’m _ not _ emotionally compromised!” retorted Jim, flinging himself back against the armchair cushions “...yet.”

They sighed in unison. Jim stared at his friend over the top of his glass, bright blue eyes clouded and brow knotted in a frown. McCoy was making inarticulate noises through clenched teeth. After a long moment of silence, Jim shrugged in an effort to ease the tension.

“Come on, Bones, it’s not as bad as all that,” he looked sideways out of the large windows of the comfortable officer’s mess into the blackness of space beyond, “Naah, it’s just an irrational obsession, nothing more. It’ll pass once we get off this glittering ball of intergalactic harmony. I’m just restless. We need to take our lady back out among the stars, to boldly go…”

“Yeah, boldly go right up against an incomprehensible cosmic anomaly that could wipe us out in an instant, or until you’re kidnapped by an alien despot hell-bent on killing us, or--”

“There’s only one alien I’m hell-bent on right now,” Jim grinned out of the side of his mouth.

“Now, you stop that right now!” the doctor waggled a threatening finger, “Damn! You’re no better than a cabaret hussy, flashing your rhinestone tits for cheap thrills in a dive bar!”

“Is that how little you think of me, Bones?” Jim effected a simpering look, “No sir!” he took a swig, draining the milky blue liquid in his glass, “Nope! I’m Satine of the Moulin Rouge, surrounded by my Diamond Dogs, swinging high above an adoring crowd!” he gestured expansively, laughing.

“I’m going back to work!” McCoy put his glass down on the low table a little harder than he meant to, and stood up, pulling down the hem of his uniform.

“Seriously though, what do you suggest I do?” Jim raised his hand imploringly at McCoy, not quite grasping his wrist.

McCoy huffed, his expression softening, “I don’t really know, Jim. How does a person get over an infatuation? It’s different for everyone. In my opinion, the less you think about it, the better. But I get it. The position you’re in, he’s in...makes it difficult.” he shrugged, “Pretend everything’s normal. Don’t show him favouritism, avoid touching him more than absolutely...hell, Vulcans hate touching anyway...necessary, and for god’s sake, stop flirting with him!”

“I do _ not _ flirt with him!” retorted Jim.

“Yes, you do! You run after him like a puppy that just learnt a new trick, and you’re always staring up at him from under your eyelashes like some cross-dressing Scarlet O’Hara! And may I remind you that he’s already _ taken _!”

“Is that your professional opinion of me?”

McCoy looked momentarily nonplussed. “As a doctor? Well, it’s been a decade at least since I cracked open my psych tablets, and what you’re suffering under is more akin to regular psychology than space psychology, but...Jim, I’m your CMO, not your shrink!”

“As a friend then…” he looked gravely at the other man.

“...as your friend...I support whatever decision you decide is right for you. This whole damn universe is nothing but a great frozen malignant beast, just lying in wait to catch us out on our slightest mistake, our tiniest miscalculation, so who am I to decide where or with whom a man chooses to find comfort and solace in among those unforgiving stars?”

The doctor looked down at his younger friend, all tousled golden hair and cerulean chipped eyes, his ridiculously well proportioned frame poured into the leather armchair like he was selling it to the highest bidder, appearing for all the world in the dim light of the mess hall like a kid fresh out of cadet school, and felt a wave of affection wash over him.

“Life is tough, Jimbo, and your life is tougher than most, but I’ll always be there for you.” He reached down and patted a denim covered knee. “And now, I really must get back to work.”

“Thanks, Bones.” Jim caught McCoy’s hand in passing and gave it a squeeze, smiling at the answering warmth as it was returned.

In the indeterminate span of time after Dr. McCoy left, Jim, at a loose end at the close of the day, sat in silent contemplation. He dragged his armchair so that it was facing the large, curved windows, and propped his booted feet up on the sill. If he scooted down low enough, the reflections of the flickering tea lights on tables, the flash of earrings or uniform braids worn by patrons, and the glow of an attendant’s PADD, all disappeared from the transparent aluminum to reveal the deep, inky purple-black of space, dotted with stars, coruscating blue, white and faintly red, and the roiling, oily haze of the nebula.

Jim cast his mind back to when he first contemplated that he might want Spock as more than just a friend, trying once again to order his thoughts from the previously aborted attempt caused by crashing bodily into his first officer in the hallway. They were in a turbolift to the bridge, weren’t they? Leaving Yorktown after they had barely finished docking, before the...the Enterprise was destroyed above Altamid...Jim swallowed a hard lump that rose, unbidden, in his throat. He could still see her, tortured and torn asunder, her nacelles amputated and drifting in space, the great disk of her saucer section falling into the grey teeth of the mountains, her name still clearly visible through a million orange-red sparks writhing and twisting as the ventral hull burnt up in the planet’s atmosphere and the ship screamed her death knell.

He breathed in through his nose, taking a lungful of the cool, slightly incense-sweetened air and the warm, earthy smell of the leather beneath his cheek. He was about to tell Spock, wasn’t he, that he had applied to the vice admiralty position, contemplated leaving. But something stopped him. That wasn’t the right time, and he had instead posited the statement that the two of them made a good team...didn’t they? Spock had answered in the affirmative. Spock was trying to tell him something at that time too, ostensibly about Ambassador Spock’s passing, though Jim felt it wasn’t the only thing he wanted to say. He blushed, despite himself. That was around the time when talking to Spock, especially in close quarters and alone, had become increasingly difficult for Jim to manage without stuttering, embarrassing himself, rambling incoherently, or all of the above.

It was his icy cool demeanor that had first goaded Jim into seeing if he could poke any holes in that Vulcan stoicism. That, and the chance to rip those goddamn judgemental eyebrows off his head. They worked out at the gym together, and Jim admitted ruefully that at the start, anyway, he had wanted to test the limits of a Vulcan’s endurance and strength. What a mistake that was, when time and time again, it was Jim who lay winded and dizzy after overextending himself on the running machines, or after a mock hand to hand combat round that Spock won easily since he was three times as strong. The captain didn’t make it easy in every arena, however, and he wasn’t above fighting dirty to get the upper hand. Jim had graduated from the school of hard knocks, after all, and from a past that was to remain sealed in a triple-locked and welded shut box, firmly buried in concrete eight feet down in the depths of his subconscious, with rocks on.

They played chess, which Jim was proud to say he won about a third of the time, and discussed linguistics - it didn’t matter if Uhura was the one who got her boyfriend interested in languages initially - xeno-anthropology, astrophysics, quantum mechanics and the properties of warp core dynamics over some weird funky smelling tea for Spock, and whiskey for Jim.

And in the midst of all those straining muscles and macho sweat, at least on Jim’s end, mental gymnastics and word play, the captain had found himself inexorably falling in...something...with his first officer. More and more, he noticed how the light shimmered off Spock’s sleek, black cap of hair, how his pale skin seemed almost translucent with a watery emerald hue just around where the blood vessels gathered closer to the surface - the high plane of his cheeks, the well of his throat, the tips of his ears - the strong, delineated lines of his philtrum as it extended to a cupid’s bow mouth, his astonishingly warm, deeply coloured, oh-so-human eyes, the most surprisingly animated part of his whole face.

By now, Jim had spent rather a long time studying the nuances of his friend and colleague. And he couldn’t help but wonder if, other than his family and Uhura, if Jim was the one who understood Spock the best. Stoic, intractable, enticing, amazing Spock. 

His thoughts strayed back to Altamid, when they had found Jaylah’s ‘house’ - the USS Franklin - and Bones had materialized just after Spock, who was bleeding from his transverse abdominis, and the two of them carried him - Jim mused, remembering how surprisingly heavy and limp the usually prim and proper Vulcan was - to a faded old couch in the Franklin’s mess hall. Jim had sat near Spock’s head, half out of his mind with worry, seeing the bright green blood oozing out of the Vulcan’s side and soaking stickily into his tunic, but trying not to show it and instead talking through ideas of how to escape their predicament. He couldn’t remember exactly what he had said, only the impression of Spock, the consummate first officer urging him to concentrate his efforts on finding the crew, Bones’ worried glances as he rooted around in the jumble of outdated apparatus for something to close the wound in Spock’s side, and his own desperation to keep Spock close to him, to not to lose him, because...he needed him.

Spock had quoted Shakespeare at that time...what was it now...something from Measure For Measure, ‘The miserable have no other medicine but only hope.’ Jim remembered Bones’ grudging admiration at Spock’s forbearance in the face of serious injury, and allowed himself an affectionate smile. That stubborn Vulcan, not sixty minutes after being patched up by the doctor, was convincing Jim to let him go save his girlfriend, and he had let him go, an ache that had nothing to do with the bruises sustained on the planet weighing heavily in his chest.

When they got up into space again...yes, when they faced the great unknown together - Bones, Uhura, Sulu, Chekov, Scotty, Spock - this ridiculously maudlin issue would resolve itself. He was determined to ignore his cockeyed, disorganized thoughts in favour of what was clearly ahead of him. After all, he had survived uncharted space for three years already, and was itching to complete their five year mission and see what else was out there. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that sitting behind a desk planning mission parameters, overseeing diplomatic relations in the Federation, and commanding fleets of starships from Yorktown or some other starbase, was not his gig. At all. Because vice admirals didn’t fly, and where was the fun in that?


	2. Suit the action to the word, the word to the action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: notification of minor character death in this chapter.

Thin, yellow beams of simulated sunlight shone through the cracks around the edges of thick fabric blinds, prompting movement from the bed at the far end of the room. The warm, jacquard patterned ivory duvet slipped down, revealing a slender, mocha coloured shoulder and an ebony waterfall of hair. Graceful arms emerged from under the covers and stretched luxuriously into the air. Uhura raised herself up on her elbows and looked blearily out from under long, sooty eyelashes, trying to focus on the chronometer - a vintage styled, squat, chrome device - on the table near the couch.

“Ugh. Why is it so early?” she grumbled, sitting up fully, the duvet falling to her waist revealing pert, full breasts and chocolate nipples. She pulled her hair back into a messy bun and glanced to her right, where a sleek black mop was managing to burrow itself even deeper into the pillows. She brushed Spock’s hair back from his face with delicate fingers and chuckled affectionately at his sleepy frown. Spock was a paragon of punctuality, but unbeknownst to most people, he would sleep in if given half the chance. Uhura kissed him gently on his cheek, “Don’t get too comfortable, we’re shipping out today.” An incomprehensible mumble followed her burbling laughter as she pushed the covers back and got out of bed, heading to the bathroom, her svelte, naked form reflected in the closet mirror.

Spock opened one eye eventually, only to wince as a shard of sunlight caught him across the face. Artificial sunlight followed an artificial time, and arched across the shimmering soap bubble of Yorktown starbase in a parody of a standard Earth day. The sound of a shower emanated from the direction of the bathroom, and Spock’s internal clock told him it was 0841 hours, corroborated by the chronometer on the end table. Nyota was a fan of long showers.

He turned over onto his back and released his arms from the coverlet, staring pensively up at the ceiling and the lines of light partitioning it. The Enterprise was resuming its five year mission today, with the very vague mission parameter of “explore uncharted space beyond the nebula”. Spock knew that any excuse, no matter how vague its premise, was good enough for his captain to pack his bags and make a beeline for the docking bay. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and allowed the impression of Jim Kirk, brilliant as the morning sun, to rise unbidden in his mind. This was not the present Kirk, with serious brows and dark blonde hair coiffed to one side, but a Kirk from three years ago, sandy locks spiked up over his crown, sapphire eyes brash and defiant, his youthful form perched in the command chair like it was slightly too big for him. This was the man who challenged Spock with his very presence, who pushed himself to the limit in the gym and on the bridge, whose incandescent life force could not be extinguished even by death, and who inspired his crew to inhuman limits. How prophetic it was that his older counterpart had encouraged him to stay in Starfleet, to realize a friendship unlike any other, that would define them both. Spock had definitely never encountered a phenomenon such as James Tiberius Kirk before. He wondered at his motivations. Had he honestly thought he could leave Starfleet and...Jim...behind for New Vulcan? Like the good doctor had remarked when Spock admitted to him that he was contemplating leaving, “Jim is not going to like that. Hell, I don’t know what he’d do without you.”

The noise of Nyota emerging from the bathroom and flicking open the closet door made Spock start, and an inexplicable bubble of guilt settled over his shoulders. During all his morning ruminations, he had not once recalled that Nyota had parted ways with him over his prior decision. Spock wondered at what point Jim’s opinion started to matter to him most.

Docking Terminal 5 was filled with a sea of red, blue and gold uniforms. Carry-on luggage was stacked uniformly onto waiting hover transport units, the main bulk of the crew’s personal effects having already been transported aboard, and supervising officers with PADDs glowing with crew rosters and quartermaster schematics moved through the throng. The Enterprise-A glimmered sleekly beyond the tall pillars and tinted aluminum windows of the docking bay, the steady whirring drone of her engines in neutral belying her powerful bulk suspended in the cavernous expanse of the space lane.

At 0930 hours, the command bridge crew converged from various locations, merging into the multicoloured crowd. Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu, his slim form trailed closely by the dusty-brown, curly-headed Ensign Pavel Andreievich Chekov, walked slowly towards the forward bow gangplank with head bent over PADD as he scrolled through his shift assignment. Lieutenant Nyota Uhura had detached herself from her boyfriend immediately after they entered the terminal together, and was currently running a stylus down a PADD filled with rows of personnel in the Communications and Operations Departments, calling out names. Dr. Leonard McCoy, Lieutenant Commander, was standing in a circle of blue medical shirts, signing for a last minute shipment of vaccines and immunosuppressants . He could never stock up on too many, especially where his immune-system-on-overdrive-oh-my-god-what-is-that-reaction-I’ve-never-seen-one-that-bad-before captain was involved. Commander S'chn T'gai Spock stood to the right of the primary gangplank portal, seeming somehow detached and aloof from the madding crowd, his dark eyes scanning over the bustle, searching. Occasionally, he was interrupted from his task to approve some documentation presented to him on a PADD, or instruct the placement of personnel. 

“Oh, Commander, if you’re looking for the captain, he should be in his quarters,” Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott called out, interrupting his perusal of the thronging crew.

“Thank you, Mr. Scott,” Spock’s brow furrowed, “has the captain not left his Yorktown stateroom yet?”

“Oh! Didne ye ken he slept aboard last night?” Scotty jerked his head towards the Enterprise, grinning conspiratorially, “We all know how much he loves his ladies, aye.”

“Thank you, that will be sufficient,” Spock answered abruptly, turning on his heel and disappearing quickly down the gangplank. Scotty raised his eyebrows and shrugged. Who knew the mysterious ways of Vulcans?

The captain was indeed in his quarters, staring into the tall bathroom mirror that ran the expanse of the wall from the shining chromed sink, partially recessed into an ebony countertop, to the showering stall, which contained not just the sonic unit, but a deep, rectangular bathtub as well. The new flagship, in addition to being more advanced than the old model, was also more luxurious. The captain’s stateroom had a sitting area with cream coloured leather couches adjacent to an elegantly curved, translucent aluminum desk. A LCARS unit, screen slate grey and silent other than its slow, blinking blue LED in one corner, occupied the wall behind the desk. There were comm screens on the desk, on the minimalist low table to the right side of a comfortable looking bed and, rather incongruously, at the head beside the bathing area. A translucent, decorative partition that could be made opaque separated the private area from the sitting room, and there were even plants - a ficus in a polished white container lived in the entertaining area, and a large monstera skulked in one corner of the bedroom, its lacy leaves waxy under the dim recessed lights that encircled wide picture windows along the whole back bank of the captain’s quarters.

Jim assessed his reflection critically. Mature, sculpted hairstyle, neat, but not boring - check. Serious brows - check. Eyes like chips of glacial ice - check. Ruggedly chiseled jawline - check. Irresistibly kissable, full lips - check! The captain nodded curtly to his mirror image and left the bathroom, the door sliding shut with a quiet hiss. He gazed around in private wonderment, still astonished after all these years that he was actually a captain of a starship; and not just any starship, but the flagship of the Federation. All this for joining Starfleet on a dare. He could hear the sounds of bustling activity in the corridor, made faint and muted by the air-tight seal of his door, and excitement coloured high on his cheeks. He pulled his command gold tunic into place, rubbed his hands together, and advanced towards the exit. Suddenly, the door chime sounded, and Jim said, “Come in,” before his brain even registered he’d said it.

Light from the hallway flooded in as the door whooshed back, silhouetting the tall, elegant form of his XO. Spock’s piercing gaze seemed to rove quickly in search of something, before alighting on his commanding officer.

“Good morning...Jim,” the Vulcan’s eyes softened noticeably.

“Spock!” the captain greeted warmly.

“Mr. Scott told me that you had slept the night aboard the Enterprise, is this true?”

Jim chuckled, “Ah, you caught me. Yeah,” he lifted his hand to the back of his head, embarrassed, “I guess I just couldn’t wait any longer.”

“Jim, you realize that you will have two more consecutive years on board this vessel, and hopefully many more after.”

“I know, but…” he ran his hand fondly along the desk by his side, “I wanted...I wanted to spend just one night, you know, getting acquainted. Just me and her.”

Spock lifted one side of his mouth in apparent bemusement. “I do not understand the fascination humans have with personifying vehicles, places of residence and other inanimate objects. Why would a starship need to be introduced to her captain?”

“Ah hah! You did it too!” Jim crowed, “Don’t give me that ‘you don’t understand it’ like it’s some sort of purely human idiosyncrasy. You called the Enterprise a ‘her’!”

Spock managed to look mildly contrite. “I will accede to your point. It is true, while I do not talk to inanimate objects, nor assign them any sort of personality, I will admit that the Enterprise has a certain inexplicably feminine quality...to her.”

Jim beamed his 1000 watt grin at his first officer, who turned away quickly, with only the inclination of his head implying the expectation that his captain should follow, as both officers left the room.

“Where are your quarters, Spock?” Jim asked as they walked along the crowded corridor toward the turbolift.

“3C 125, Captain, adjacent to yours,” came the reply.

“Hmm, next to mine again, huh.”

“As always...Jim.”

The two men did not look at each other. Rather, they walked in silence side by side, arms brushing occasionally as if by accident. Any passing crew member who looked at their faces would chance to see the captain’s cheeks flushed slightly pink, and his first officer’s emotionless face softened with an uncharacteristic, fond look in his deep brown eyes.

The cacophony of sounds of a starship preparing to depart spilled out over the circulation lobby at the centre of the vessel. Walkways and corridors, bright with lights shining from plastisteel panels, polished silver accents and wide sections of transparent aluminum, bustled with multicoloured uniforms as the Enterprise prepared to restart its previously aborted five year mission. The ship’s cool computer voice broadcast intermittently over top of the fizz of anticipation that was palpable in the air.

“Captain on the bridge!” Jim’s arrival was heralded by the sharp trill of the bosun’s whistle as he made his first steps, officially, onto the Enterprise’s shining bridge. Consoles glowed white from within like the halos of angels, and transparent screens glittered with star charts and lines of scrolling data. Steadily repetitive pings, chirps from the navigational equipment, and clicks from toggles and buttons, were the underlying chorus that hummed with a bridge crew functioning at peak efficiency. It was music to Jim’s ears. He gave a broad smile and nodded to his attentive crew, who were all turned in his direction as flowers turned to track the sun. He stepped across to the command chair - his command chair, and ran his hand over the smooth sable of the backrest, down the immaculate alabaster of a curved arm, swiveling it slightly and dropping into it as if he had never left. He glanced over to Spock, who had taken up his customary position at the science station, and then turned his chair around to face the main viewscreen. Jim heard the airlock doorway at starboard open, and the light steps of Lieutenant Uhura crossing the polished floor to the comm station.

“Are all personnel on board, Lieutenant?” he asked, still facing forward.

“Yes, Captain.” Uhura paused as she pressed a few icons on her console, “all departments reporting full crew complement, Sir. All personnel accounted for. Yorktown Central Command has cleared us for launch on your mark.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Ops? Navigation?”

“All cargo hatches locked. Main hangar iz secure. Docking clamps retracted and gangplanks detached and stored, Keptin. Course plotted and awaiting initialization.” Chekov squinted at the alternating numbers scrolling on his screen, nodding to himself. Jim pressed a button on the right armrest of his chair, eliciting an answering chirrup. 

“Mr. Scott? How are we looking down there?”

“Dilithium chamber at maximum, Captain. She’s purring like a kitten and rarin’ to go, sir!”

“Very good, Mr. Scott.” He clicked the comm line closed with a flick of his fingers, and then looked down at his helmsman, who returned his gaze with calm self-possession.

“Ready for launch, Mr. Sulu?”

“Aye, Captain.” intoned Sulu, who turned back to the helm, one hand moving up the energy input slider and the other wrapped confidently around the silver chromed throttle.

“Take us out.”

“Aye, aye, Sir. Separating from Space Dock 5 at one quarter impulse.”

The pervading vibration all around them grew more urgent, accompanied by the increasing whine of the impulse engines powering up. There was a brief sensation of sideways drift, and the lights through the viewscreen started to slowly stretch and blur.

They sped through the tunnels underneath picturesque lakes and sleek skyscrapers, and left the fragile beauty of Yorktown behind in a sparkling electric blue contrail that headed straight for the Necro Cloud Nebula and its great churning, ominous expanse that loomed high in the velvet black of open space.

Passing through the nebula didn’t prove much of a challenge as the Enterprise crew had now navigated it three times. The shields held steady as they pushed through the asteroids and flying space debris, coming out the other side over Altamid. Nobody uttered a word as the captain ordered cruising speed at warp 4, and they shot past the planet cocooned in a bubble of folded space.

Alpha shift ticked by with little to nothing of note, and Jim took the opportunity to lounge in the command chair, chin ensconced in the curled fingers and thumb of his left hand, and stared off into the middle distance. Around him, the beeps of equipment hard at work and the concentrated silence of officers working even harder to impress, lulled him into a daydream. His gaze roved around the new bridge, taking in its clean, arched lines, the expanse of the viewscreen with the bright glow of the warp disk shielded and dimmed for protection, and the palpable hum of concentrated activity from the multitude of people who worked under him. It was a strange sense of disconnected power, the knowledge that his commands would be unquestioningly followed, that he could go the way of Admiral Marcus, or Captain Edison and abuse that power so easily; tip over the edge and fall into that ugly black pool of madness and despotism. But it was a system of checks and balances, at least where he was concerned, wasn’t there? By installing those trusted few who surrounded him, they would catch him before he could fall too far, surely. He found his eyes resting on the polished back of Chekov’s chair, from which he could just make out the blurred reflection of a blue uniform seated amidst an array of multicoloured lights and pulsing console panels. There was a feeling of something akin to frustration just then, like a surge of movement forward suddenly being fettered, that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It grated against his mind, like an itch he couldn’t quite reach to scratch. His mind was going in circles again,  debating topics of no practical value, arguing with himself...over what? A grimace must have made itself apparent on his face, as his yeoman, who had stepped up to his chair with a PADD in her hand remarked, “Are you alright, Captain?”

“Hmm?” Jim was shaken out of his reverie, and he focused on her young face. “Yes Ensign Tsang, I’m perfectly fine.”

He grabbed the proffered PADD out of her hands a little more sharply than he meant to and signed the bottom of it without even processing what it said. He paused for a long second with the device in one hand while he pinched the bridge of his nose with the other. Feeling the junior officer hovering by his elbow in a state of bemused anxiety, he took pity on her and said, “I got up too early. A bit of a headache. Just nerves.”

“Really, Sir? I wouldn’t have thought you of all people felt…um...I mean, you’re so confident,” she trailed off, embarrassed. Ensign Tsang was a new recruit, and though she was very good - Jim vetted all incoming personnel himself, a slightly anally retentive idiosyncrasy, and had seen the high aptitude scores on her file - this was her first assignment on a starship. He gave her a winning smile which he hoped set her at her ease,

“Hey, I get nervous on a big day, just like anyone would.”

“I don’t think you’re just anyone, Sir,” she replied, completely honestly. Jim laughed out loud at such a disarming statement, and the tense air cleared just as the ship’s bell sounded denoting the end of alpha shift.

Jim found himself in the turbolift with only Spock, and as the doors hissed closed, the Vulcan turned to him. “Captain, have you arranged your stateroom to your satisfaction?”

“Um, yeah, why do you ask?” Jim was puzzled by Spock’s uncharacteristic small talk.

“If you have completed the unpacking of your personal effects and are otherwise unoccupied, would you like to play a game of chess with me?” his voice dropped to a low velvety rumble, as if he was divulging some intimate secret.

Jim’s stomach gave a little flip and he was suddenly, inexplicably, nervous. “Oh. Ah, don’t you want to, you know, unpack your own things, or have dinner with Uhura or something?”

“I do not feel the necessity to unpack at this time. I carried my tri-d chess set on board separately from my other belongings as I anticipated you might wish to calm your mind. I have observed that humans are often restless upon returning to routine after an extended period of time away. We  _ have _ been ‘grounded’ for several consecutive months, Jim.”

“That is surprisingly perceptive of you, Spock,” Jim remarked, and looked over to find warm, dark eyes gazing intently at him. Then, with a sinking feeling, he recalled what Bones had said to him a week before in the officer's mess. “But uh...I’m really tired, actually, and I have a bit of a headache, so,” he cringed at the lame excuses he was making to avoid his friend’s company, “I think I’m going to have a bit of a lie down.”

“Very good, Captain.” Spock’s eyes slid away and the expression on his face shuttered, and Jim felt very much like he’d kicked a puppy in the face.

The turbolift doors slid open and they walked down the corridor, awkward silence ballooning between them. Jim looked over at Spock as he moved beyond the captain to reach his own doorway, but he kept his gaze steadfastly averted, and disappeared into his quarters without a word. Hefting a sigh, Jim touched his finger to the lock pad and resignedly entered his room.

He didn’t bother ordering the lights on, but instead stumbled blindly towards his bed, landing face down on it with his boots still on. “Uhhhhh, why am I such an asshole?” he groaned into the duvet. He lay still for an indeterminate length of time before finally rousing himself enough to pull his uniform shirts over his head and toe off his boots. During his more introspective moments, Jim surmised that it wasn’t so much the fighting against the unreasonable attraction he felt towards his friend and XO that was so exhausting, but the fact that he was engaged in some sort of one-sided apagogical argument with himself. Every thought of, or contact with, Spock now seemed to have his brain spiraling out of control until it arrived at some absurd conclusion. He threw the covers over himself in a last ditch effort to erect a defensive shield against further futile cogitation and fell, half undressed, into a dreamless sleep. 

Jim was awakened by the chirruping of the comm by his bedside. He groped for the button and croaked, voice heavy with sleep, “Kirk here.”

“Captain,” came Lieutenant Harris’ voice from beta shift, “I received a subspace transmission from Starfleet headquarters, priority one, private, for the captain's eyes only."

"Very good, Lieutenant, patch it down to my quarters." Jim shifted to a sitting position and ordered the lights to 30 percent. The screen on his bedside console flicked on and glowed with the strong lines of the UFP logo, its arched olive branches and starfield-speckled blue medallion nestled within, a potent reminder of the powerful and far reaching organization he worked for. It was a recorded message from Commodore Paris from Yorktown, and Jim’s mind started racing with the possible reasons why such a high ranking officer would be sending him a private message.

“Hello James,” the commodore’s eyes were gentle and her voice soft, “I received a transmission from the USS Oberth…”

Mom. Jim frowned.

“...recorded two Standard days ago, and unfortunately, there was an accident.” Commodore Paris looked sympathetic, but dignified. “The Oberth, as you know, has been on a scientific fact gathering mission in the Ponor Sector. Your mother, Lieutenant Commander Winona Kirk, was leading an away team to the surface of one of the planets in the Lukarris System. It is reported that Lukarris 3 became extremely geologically unstable, and at the time that the away team was on the surface an earthquake swarm hit unexpectedly. All members of the away team were lost.”

Jim felt a buzzing start at the back of his head and didn’t realize he was holding his breath until the tightness in his chest caused him to gasp for air.

“I’m very sorry for your loss, James. I have arranged for Lieutenant Commander Kirk’s effects to be transported back to Earth. Your brother George Samuel Kirk will sign for them and arrange any death duties. I am authorizing a period of three Standard weeks bereavement leave should you wish it. Your mother was a well respected geoscientist and a career officer. She will be missed. Captain Howard of the USS Oberth has put forward a posthumous commendation for Lieutenant Commander Kirk being killed in the line of duty. It has been approved.” She looked away at something off-screen just then, and Jim knew that this was not the only difficult message she would have sent that day.

“Take care, James.” The recording stopped and the Federation logo flashed back onto the screen with ‘End Transmission’ displayed below it.

Jim processed, almost clinically, that in the space of a minute and thirteen seconds his world had changed. He breathed out slowly, willing his head to clear and the feeling to come back into his forearms and hands. He wiped his clammy palms on the coverlet and pushed it aside to swing his legs over the side of the bed. The movement was sluggish and uncomfortable. Jim would be the first to admit that he wasn’t that close to his mother. Beyond calling during birthdays and holidays, whole months would go by without communication on either side. And like Commodore Paris had noted, Winona Kirk was a career officer. Just like Sam and Jim himself. Just like George Kirk. They were a Starfleet family. It seemed like Jim had always been running to catch up to his father, this larger than life image, even rising to Pike’s challenge to prove himself worthy of the name ‘Kirk’. But his mother was also always positioned beyond Jim’s reach. She was off-world more than not when he was growing up, and came and went from Jim’s life so much that he had stopped longing for her company in self-defence. A career officer who neglected her family for the Federation, and then finally died because of it. He snorted derisively. Was the extent of a Starfleet officer’s worth nothing but a sympathetic but perfunctory message, a posthumous commendation, and a box of stuff sent back to Earth?

Sitting in the dim half-light of his quarters, Jim contemplated heading to Sickbay to chat with Bones, whom he knew would be in his office despite it being halfway into beta shift. But somehow, the clinical smells of the medical bay were the last thing he wanted to smell at this moment, even the thought of it somehow turned his stomach. And confiding in his overly emotional best friend, feeling like a phoney for the inevitable outpouring of condolences for a mother who was barely in his life, was not something he wanted to face right at that moment. He reached over to the comm and hit a button, “Kirk to Spock…”

The Vulcan’s deep, clear voice answered immediately, “Spock here, Captain.”

“Hey, uh, Spock. Is that offer of chess still on?”

There was a split second of hesitation, and then, “Affirmative. Shall I come to your quarters?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that would be great, thanks.”

If Spock noticed his captain seemed wan with a fractious look in his eyes, he did not comment upon it. He set up the 3d board on the coffee table and carefully arranged the chessmen. He gestured to the white pieces, “It is your turn to start, Jim.”

“You can remember? The last time we played chess was weeks before we docked at Yorktown the first time.” Spock opened his mouth ostensibly to refute him, but Jim waved him silent before he could start, “Wait. Nevermind, I know, I know, of course you remember exactly. Vulcans have impeccable memories.”

“That is not entirely accurate, Jim, in the case of all Vulcans. In some ways we are very much like other species.” Spock sat with a straight back in the armchair, his face placid. “Sometimes we remember something because it is important to us.”

Jim quirked a half smile at the gentle complement, “Important, huh.” He stared at the board for a while, and then moved his pawn. Spock answered his move decisively, and the game progressed in silence. Jim waited through a whole game - Spock won - before getting up and going to the food synthesizer alcove and returning with a cup of tea that he placed in front of Spock, and carrying a cup of coffee for himself.

“I received a message transmission from Commodore Paris a little while ago.” he sat back into the couch cushions and looked out the window. “My mother has died.”

He did not see the sympathetic look that suffused the Vulcan’s face, but he heard his low voice, “I grieve with thee.” Spock said.

“Thank you.” Jim returned perfuncturally, and met his eyes. Upon seeing the kind look on his friend’s face, he resisted the urge to reach out. His fingers twitched, but he willed them to be still. Spock would not, could not, provide the sort of tactile comfort a human normally yearned for in times of grief, and Jim was irritated at himself for even thinking he could use this situation as an excuse to touch his first officer. Is this helping me get over my crush? He thought sarcastically. Why am I thinking like this when Mom has just died?

“Do you require a period of grieving, Jim?” Spock asked solicitously after looking at the other man for a long moment.

“Nah,” Jim shook his head, “we were never very close.”

“Nevertheless,” Spock persisted, “it is customary, is it not? Starfleet regulation gives allowances for a period of bereavement.”

“Trust you to cite regulation when I just found out my mom died.” he retorted, suddenly peevish.

Spock frowned almost imperceptibly, “I meant no disrespect--”

“No! Of course you didn’t! I just…” Jim pushed a hand through his hair, “It’s just kinda typical of you though, isn’t it, to be so...unemotional about it all.” He knew he was being highly unreasonable, when it was clear that Spock was actually being considerate of his feelings, but he couldn’t stem the tide of helplessness and guilt that suddenly rose within him. Helplessness that he couldn’t seem to make sense of the conflicting feelings coursing through him. Guilt that he should be more...upset...or sad, or genuine upon hearing of his mom’s death. Almost unbidden, he mumbled to himself, “don’t...you, understand...my mom just died.”

“As did my mother, Jim.”

Jim looked up, suddenly aware that Spock had misunderstood, “No. I mean…” But how could he even start to explain the messy and complex relationship he had had with his mom, the terrible sense of relief that he felt, and the equally terrible sense of anger and disappointment at the same time.

“I’m sorry. Thank you for your condolences. No, I don’t need any leave. It’s better if I keep working. It’ll take my mind off...things.”

He reset the chessboard to keep his hands busy, and realizing that he would always be a soft touch when it came to this man, added, “I didn’t mean to imply that you don’t have feelings over your mom’s death. Heck, you actually really loved  _ your _ mom.”

“Did you not hold your mother in high regard, Jim?” asked Spock.

“It’s…” he opened his mouth and then closed it again. “It’s complicated,” he finally conceded. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

They played another game in silence, but Jim’s heart wasn’t in it, and after Spock left, he went back to bed in an effort to quell the flip flop of his guilty conscience.

*  * *

There was a message from Nyota blinking on his comm screen when Spock entered his quarters, and he played it while returning the chess set to its pride of place on a shelf by his desk. She was going to help calibrate the communications array to boost the telemetry for deep space signals and goodness knows how long that was going to take, so she was sorry, but she would skip on dinner and see him when alpha shift resumed at 0800.

Spock changed out of his uniform blacks into a deep grey tunic with trailing sleeves and matching pants in a tightly woven fabric. He settled at the foot of his bed on a thick, burgundy meditation mat with Vulcan scriptures embroidered around the border in metallic thread. It was a nightly routine, and Spock found it extremely helpful to clear away the noise from the activity of the day and repair his mental shielding. During the process, he organized his thoughts to make sense of the many seemingly nonsensical motivations and actions he countered on a daily basis on this ship full of irrational beings. Chief among these being, of course, Captain James T. Kirk.

It puzzled Spock greatly that the captain seemed, not sad upon learning the news of his mother’s death as would normally be expected, but instead irritated. Visibly irritated, if the frown on his face and his dismissive manner was any indication. Furthermore, Jim had contravened what was normally expected behaviour in a human upon receiving news of a family member’s passing, and refused any leave to come to terms with obviously important and distressing information.

Spock had studied the expressions on Jim’s face warring with one another after he had told him about the death, and he knew that it was customary for human beings to touch, hug, or somehow physically manifest expressions of hurt and of comfort correspondingly. But Jim had sought instead to downplay the entire situation. Spock did not extrapolate further on what he might have done had the captain reached out to him for comfort, but if a tiny flutter in his stomach was to be believed, he might have actually welcomed the physical contact.

His closed eyes pinched a tiny bit as he mulled over that revelation in his mind. He had already accepted that Jim Kirk was an unexpected and, in the beginning at least, unwelcome force in his life. The man disrupted the natural order of things, and much like the Narada and his alternate universe self intruding into his timeline, who could have guessed how the future would have unfolded if the whole sequence of events culminating in Spock sitting on a mat in his room right now, did not happen.  _ Kaiidth _ . What has happened, happened. The truth was that Jim was no longer unwelcome, but indeed, had become a very important part of Spock’s life. In some ways, he understood that his relationship with Jim was the singularly most important thing that had happened in his life thus far...a friendship  _ that defined them both _ . Given that Spock held the position of trusted friend and trusted second in command, which was turning out to be a constant in at least two realities and perhaps countless more, it was logical to continue to protect and cultivate this bond between them.

And so Spock resolved to look out for his captain’s physical and emotional wellbeing, because if Jim was not healthy in body as well as mind, not only would the Enterprise and her crew suffer, but Spock’s own level of productivity would ultimately falter under it. It was the duty of the first officer to ensure that a ship, its crew and its captain were functioning at peak proficiency. It was clear to him that Winona Kirk’s death had affected Jim, and that Jim was, as the human study of psychoanalysis put it, suppressing his grief as a defence mechanism. Humans were not as Vulcans, and the acceptance of loss was a rough and winding path to travel...as Spock’s own very human half could attest to.

With that certainty squared away in Spock’s mind, he methodically categorized the rest of the events in his day, and rose after an hour to retire to sleep.

*  * *

Jim woke up in a distinctly tetchy mood. He yanked a comb through his dark gold hair, parting the fringe down the left, and scowled in his bathroom mirror. It was 15 minutes to the start of the fifth alpha shift since leaving Yorktown, and seven days since the Oberth had sent the message about his mother’s death. They’d been headed in the general direction beyond the Sauria Sector, with no more communication from Starfleet. Jim would have deemed the radio silence from headquarters more strange if he’d thought to stop for a second and think about it, but he had been nursing an increased restlessness which was causing intermittent insomnia and made his head feel like it was stuffed with cotton wool. He had assumed that the freedom to choose his general direction would be freeing, but instead, he was feeling the weight of ennui even more keenly than before the whole Yorktown incident. Quelling a wave of mild panic rising up within him, he straightened his uniform, grabbed his cup of coffee from the food synthesizer and left his quarters.

Spock and Uhura were already on the bridge when the turbolift doors slid open. They were standing together beside the command chair, and broke apart when the junior ensign at the aft science station announced, “Captain on the bridge”. Uhura had a vaguely disapproving look on her face, and as she moved away to return to her station, Jim very clearly saw her give Spock some serious side eye. The Vulcan, if he noticed the look on his girlfriend’s face, pointedly ignored it, and instead moved forward to greet his captain with a serene mien.

“Good morning, Captain,” he greeted in that smooth, low voice which had lately started making Jim feel a bit tight in the trouser region.

“Good morning, Spock,” Jim returned, “Something up?”

“I am unsure to what you are referring, Sir.”

“You and Uhura. Are you having an argument about something?” and Jim heard a very audible snort from the direction of the comm station.

Spock hesitated, apparently considering a suitable rebuttal. “Lieutenant Uhura was merely expressing her reservations regarding the content of my regularly scheduled report logs to Starfleet.”

“Really? That is unusual. What is wrong with them?”

“It is nothing unusual, and there is nothing wrong with them, Captain.” Spock replied tersely. Jim sipped his coffee reflectively. An annoyed Spock was a rare bit of entertainment not to be passed up.

“Well, it seems logical that if Lieutenant Uhura has reservations, as she is a highly trained and competent officer, I am inclined to conclude that there must be something amiss with the content of your logs, Commander.”

Spock drew in his breath in an almost impatient manner. “The lieutenant said that my standard report dated 2263.169 to Starfleet was overly pedantic and that it may have been misconstrued, which is highly illogical because reason dictates that exactitude should in fact minimize confusion, not--”

“What did you write in your report, Spock?” Jim’s eyes narrowed as a four year old memory surfaced like bile in his throat.

“The truth,” the Vulcan replied, bluntly.

“Oh, great. And we all know where that got us the last time, didn’t we! How much trouble am I in now? How could your report conflict with my logs when nothing. Has. Happened. Yet?”

“I do not believe there is any conflict, Captain, and you are not in ‘any trouble’. I reported that all ship systems continued within normal parameters, that the engineering department had logged a 0.75% increase in warp nacelle output efficiency following the regulation ‘breaking in’ period of new equipment, that the science department was collaborating with the medical lab on a series of experiments highlighting protein synthesis, that crew morale is functional despite the captain’s recently received personal news which was believed to be distressing to--”

“Wait a goddamn minute! You reported that I was distressed by personal news?!”

“It is evident when a human receives news of significant importance, such as the death of a family member, that they are naturally compromised, which gives allowances under regulation 7.01, subheading B for--”

“Naturally nothing! Regulation my ass! Goddammit, Spock! Is  _ that _ why we haven’t been receiving any mission debriefs? Because Starfleet thinks I’m on bereavement leave?!”

“Got it in one, Captain,” came Uhura’s voice from behind Spock, eye roll clearly evident in the tone of her voice though Jim couldn’t see her face.

He sputtered, suddenly apoplectic. “First off, it’s actually none of your damn business what my personal communications contain. I only told you because you were my  _ friend _ . Secondly, it is not your place to assume that I need leave because...someone...in my family died, thirdly...I don’t need any leave!”

Spock was rendered speechless for a moment, a mortified blush tinting his cheeks emerald as he realized he had committed what humans called a ‘faux pas’, but Jim didn’t give him leave to say anything more, and instead turned on his heel and headed back through the turbolift with only a, “I’m going to see Bones. Take the conn!” spat in Spock’s general direction.

The bridge filled with the hot silence of secondhand embarrassment as the lift doors snicked closed. 

Jim clutched his coffee cup so hard he thought he might crack it. He had come a hair’s breadth from hurling the cup at Spock’s head, that self-righteous, patronizing Vulcan bastard! It infuriated Jim even more that he had feelings for him; feelings that sat like burningly uncomfortable lumps of coal in his gut right at this moment.

The doors swished open on Deck 7, and Jim stalked down the corridor to Sickbay like an avenging angel. He stormed past the triage ward and flung himself into the chair across from the doctor’s office desk, disregarding the coffee that splashed over his knuckles and across the floor. McCoy pursed his lips and sighed.

“What now, Princess? Did Prince Charming turn into a cold-hearted, green-blooded amphibian?”

“Did you know about this?!” Jim rounded on him.

“About what?”

“That Spock practically reported me as unfit for duty and emotionally compromised due to the news of my mom’s death.”

“Surely not,” McCoy returned, in mock horror.

“Not funny, Bones. I’m perfectly sound in mind and body, and besides, it’s none of his goddamn business!”

“I thought he was your friend. That’s what friends do, Jim, they care about each other. Besides, I think you’re probably overreacting.”

“Are you...defending him, Bones?” Jim gaped in astonishment. “I thought you hated the guy!”

“I don’t hate him, and I wasn’t defending him either.” McCoy leaned over the desk and gazed seriously at Jim. “Look, Jim, it’s normal to think that a person would be upset and need some time to recuperate after news of the death of a parent, no matter how estranged the relationship between parent and child may be. Spock was actually being...I can’t believe I’m actually saying this...feeling about this.”

“I don’t believe you! Are you taking it out on me because I didn’t tell you first?”

“Stop being a goddamn infant, why the hell would I do something like that!” McCoy smacked his hand irritably on the desk.

They glared at each other for a minute, Jim outraged into momentary speechlessness, and McCoy refusing to be bullied by his irascible captain. Finally, the doctor said, “I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, Captain, but I think you need to take some time to cool off.”

Jim turned pale with anger and pushed himself out of the chair. “Unbelievable”, he muttered, and stormed back out of Sickbay.

The worst thing, Jim thought, as he punched viciously at the turbolift call button, the worst thing was that his friends were right. But their caring was stinging like red hot pins and needles on his nerves instead, and that combined with the dredged up anger he still felt at his mother, even after all these years, left Jim feeling impotent and out of control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 title is from Shakespeare's Hamlet (you'll see more quotes from this play in following chapters).
> 
> An alternate title might have been something illustrating how even though you have the best intentions, that they backfire or cause more problems in the end. At this point in the lives of the Kelvin Timeline crew, I figure they're close friends and colleagues, but people can still assume wrong things about each other. However, there is the other side of the coin, where friends can be your saving grace, keeping you from doing yourself harm. It's all about intention, really. These were just themes I sought to explore, apologies for the rather rambling notes. As always, I welcome comments and feedback. Please follow me on Twitter @fauxrugged if you'd like.


	3. All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players

Of the four planets orbiting around the binary star system of Upsilon Andromedae, only the furthest, Majriti or U And d - discovered in the late 20th Century - had life anywhere near it. Specifically one of Majriti’s moons, Tenari D04-15, supported life. When Jim had calmed down enough to contact Starfleet and report himself fit for duty, Admiral Roston responded. The Admiral, who was in charge of the Federation Department of the Exterior’s assignments for Alpha quadrant, had practically jumped at the chance to assign him a diplomatic mission to Tenari D04-15 that he felt would, “fit up your alley like a glove to a tee”. The main indigenous species of the exomoon were the Tenarians, classified into ten main racial groupings, and had recently become warp capable within the last fifty years. The Federation, as part of their signing treaty with the Tenarians, had offered diplomatic assistance with settling any unrest the various government factions on the three main continents had with each other.

A little queasy from the terrible cocktail of mixed metaphors, Jim signed off with Admiral Roston, leaned back in his chair in the Enterprise’s newfangled ready room and ran his eye down the mission parameters. Grudgingly, he accepted that the mission did seem right up his alley, and that the tasks suited him to a tee, not to mention anything about gloves.

It was a straightforward mission, and even Spock in his infuriatingly overbearing nanny mode should have nothing to complain about. In fact, and Jim flipped the screen to the panel outlining personalities and pictures of the key dignitaries, this might be just the pressure valve he was searching for to release all the pent up whatever it was he had been feeling lately.

Jim returned to the bridge and Spock rose smoothly but quickly from the command chair. The captain affected an air of cold professionalism though much of his former ire had now dissipated, and slid into his customary position.

“Chekov, plot in a course for the Upsilon Andromedae system. We’re going to fulfill a standard diplomatic handshake agreement between the leading parties of Tenari D04-15. Sulu, warp 6 whenever you’re ready.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” intoned the two officers at helm control simultaneously.

Jim looked over to Spock, who had not returned to his science station, but was standing - hovering - at his right hand, looking guarded. “Alright, Mr. Spock? It’s a nice, simple mission that will...ease...us back into things.” and he turned back to the main viewscreen, effectively ending the transaction.

“Very good, Captain,” said Spock, accepting the proffered olive branch.

The Enterprise slid into a standard orbit over Tenari D04-15 in due course, and Jim joined his away team in the main transporter room. Spock, Uhura, McCoy and two security personnel were standing at the base of the transporter pad, and Scotty had emerged from the bowels of Engineering to personally operate the controls. Jim tugged at the sleeves of his dress uniform - a severe dark charcoal grey suit with a stiff, high collar, angled lines and his four captain’s pips decorating the shoulder boards. Lustrous dull gold stripes, two thicker with a thinner band in the middle denoting his rank, encircled each cuff and ran in a stripe down each trouser leg. Correspondingly, the other departments displayed their colours in the same fashion, a deep sapphire for medical and sciences, and a dark ruby for operations, communications, and engineering. Uhura, feminine and professional in the uniform skirt version that she preferred, was checking her translating equipment with a slight frown on her face. Spock looked pale and imperious, and stood even straighter as Jim entered. The two security officers, who remained in their regular uniforms, stood bulky and dangerous with holstered phaser sidearms strapped to their waists.

“Come on, Bones, smile!” Jim clapped his darkly scowling CMO on the shoulder, “New world, new life, new civilizations; it’s going to be fun!”

“Unknown world, dangerous life, hostile civilizations; we’re all going to die.” The doctor looked sideways at the transporter and growled.

Jim gave a long suffering smile and stepped up onto the transporter pad, “that’s the spirit, Bones. At least we can leave those godawful hats behind.” He nodded to Scotty when the team was assembled around him. “Energize, Mr. Scott.”

They materialized at one end of a wide platform that had been erected in the middle of a garden planted with what looked like oversized succulents, cacti and tall pampas grasses, their huge, taupe coloured feathery plumes waving in the slight, hot breeze. It seemed overcast, with a thin veil of clouds overhead, and everywhere seemed lit by the same level of ambient light. The lack of delineating shadows made everything look slightly flat and unreal. The huge bulk of the gas giant U And d was an imposing but hazy disk, the alternating light and dark striations of its cloud formations like a watermark against the parchment white of the sky.

The team noticed a trio of figures moving towards them, and Jim could feel a ripple of amazement move through everyone in the party. The mission briefing had come with images of the Tenarian delegation, but it was never like seeing the real thing in person. The aliens moved with a birdlike clipped gait that only served to accentuate the lithe, shimmering lines of their bodies, which was either mottled the same colour as the environment, or was strangely reflective. Their clothes were of a soft material, cut close and clinging, and seemed like a part of their skin in similar shifting tones. The whole effect was like a mirage on a hot day that hovered, changing and undulating, above a sun baked surface.

Jim stepped forward as the grouping drew up to them, and extended his left hand, palm up and fingers horizontal to the ground in the traditional Tenarian greeting. He recited smoothly, “We greet you. We see you. We touch the ground.”

All three Tenarians extended their hands similarly and invocated the same words in unison. They were humanoid, despite their strange mercurial skin, though their eyes were hooded, flat black gems like a lizard’s and instead of hair, plates like dragon scales extended from the tops of their heads and morphed into spine-like appendages across the backs of their shoulders. They seemed to have binary sexes, and two of the group were taller - a few cm’s over Jim’s own height - and broader across the chest than the third, who had a slighter bone structure and was more petite, like an average human woman.

Jim gave his most winning smile and said, “I am Captain James T. Kirk of the Federation USS Enterprise. My crew and I are at your service.”

The female Tenarian looked up at him and said in a melodic voice, “Greetings Kirk of the Federation, my name is Amrit-kar of Solus. This is Inus-swei also of Solus, and,” she gestured across to the third Tenarian, “this is Gertan-in of Kazrar. We welcome you to the premier signing ceremony of joining, and are gratified to receive your moderation as representative of the Federation.”

She gestured for the party to follow and turned in the direction they had come. Jim fell into step beside her, flanked by Gertan-in. As they walked off the platform and down a pebbled stone pathway that led through the desert-like vegetation, he noted that their skin did seem to reflect, or take on the colours of the objects around them, with subtle tonal differences. Amrit-kar was of a warm, almost sandy paleness, whereas Gertan-in was shaded slightly deeper and cooler. They were both extremely graceful and attractive, and Jim did his best to represent the best of the human species despite his distressing opacity.

“Kirk of the Federation, we will take you to a resting house where you will wait for planet-set,” instructed Gertan-in in a deeper but equally melodic voice. “The signing ceremony of joining will commence from the final ray.”

“Looking forward to it,” quipped Jim, pleasantly. As they walked onward, the garden ahead thinned to a moss covered lawn upon which were erected several large breezy tents. The air was hot and very dry despite the lack of direct sunlight, and Jim eyed the deep cool of the tent interiors with anticipation. Gertan-in fixed him with an appraising gaze, and the scales to one side of his head shifted up slightly and almost quizzically.

“I have done some research into the different variations of your human species as I am what you would call a xeno-anthropologist. Would you classify yourself as an attractive example of your species?”

Jim very audibly heard McCoy snort behind him, but he ignored it and answered diplomatically, “it is not customary for most humans to...classify…themselves. Rather, we gain perspective on ourselves from the opinions of others around us.”

Gertan-in inclined his head and said decisively, “Very well. I would classify you as an attractive example.”

If Jim’s face broke into a shit-eating grin at that blatant alien come on, Gertan-in did not seem adversely affected by it. “Thank you, Gertan-in. May I also say that you seem an attractive example of your species.” He could  _ hear _ McCoy rolling his eyes.

The aliens left the Enterprise away team in a comfortable tent, the back of which was pulled back to overlook a placid lake. Gertan-in was particularly solicitous of the captain, showing him the range of refreshments, then leading him to a comfortable armchair and making him wait while he personally brought him a drink. Jim looked up into the alien’s face, noting the skin pulled up slightly around jet black eyes and thin mouth open in a sort of smile as he bent close, placing the drink in Jim’s hands. Gertan-in smelt spicy and alluring, and Jim was conscious both of his head swimming a bit and the cool, dry touch of smooth fingers on his. “Be comfortable, Kirk of the Federation. We will return shortly before the ceremony commences to lead you and your team to the place of the signing.”

As Gertan-in drew away and followed his compatriots from the tent, Kirk looked across to see Spock eyeing him with an inscrutable expression on his face. McCoy was standing close by, with a look of open disapproval on his.

“What?” retorted Jim.

“We’re supposed to be diplomatic, Jim, not desperate.”

“Whatever, Bones. I’m not about to cause an intergalactic incident by being priggish...and I’m not desperate!”

“Fine, but you don’t have to openly eye sex our hosts, either.”

“You find them attractive too, don’t tell me you don’t! I saw you looking appreciatively at Amrit-kar. Right, Spock?”

During the exchange between the two friends, Spock’s look had, if anything, become even more impenetrable. “I am sure the captain knows what he is doing,” he murmured, and excused himself to move over to where Uhura was inspecting the food.

McCoy sat in the armchair beside Jim and plucked the drink out of his hand, reaching for his medical tricorder at the same time. “I know you’re all worked up about your little...issue...but flirting with sexy, chrome aliens isn’t the way to resolve it!” he hissed, scanning the amber liquid in the glass for potential allergens.

“What do you propose then, Bones?” Jim hissed back, “Go up to him and say, ‘hey, you’re an overbearing, overprotective bastard, and I know you have a girlfriend, but I think you’re swell and I’d really like to get to know you all the way better?’”

“Your life wasn’t an archaic zany sex comedy, last I checked.” McCoy handed the drink back and snapped the hand scanner into its housing. “Look, just try and keep your horndog tendencies under control and your captainship in your pants, alright?”

“Fine, you win. All in the name of the Federation.” Jim rolled his eyes.

“You bet your Starfleet ass, Captain!”

The start of planet-set was absolutely spectacular and the humans felt they were privy to something exceptionally unique. Jim stepped up to Lieutenant Hendorff who was standing by the open tent flap, “What do you think, Cupcake? Pretty amazing, huh.”

“It’s beautiful, Captain.” The broad shouldered security chief had a soft look in his normally steely grey eyes.

Jim snorted, and clapped his one time antagonist on the shoulder affectionately, then turned around as Amrit-kar and Gertan-in entered the tent. This time, it was Amrit-kar who approached Jim and, bold as brass, entwined her arm around his. “Kirk of the Federation, let us go now to the place of the signing.” Gertan-in’s expression was unreadable, but Jim felt that the other alien may have then ingratiated himself on Spock with a little more enthusiasm than was necessary in some sort of jealous retaliation.

The captain merely raised an interested eyebrow and led his hostess gracefully from the tent, Gertan-in, Spock and the others falling in behind, trailed by the security personnel.

There was a substantial crowd of what looked to be the Tenarian equivalent of security, press, peons, hangers-on and hard-working individuals who were actually making the whole glittering affair happen milling close by the lakeside, giving the impression of a heat mirage of a flock of waterbirds. By the water’s edge, a wide, low raised dias much like the platform they beamed down on was half filled with stepped benches on one side, a large round table in the middle with a semicircle of chairs facing the water arranged around it, and a cordoned off area on the other side. Upsilon Andromedae A, the closer star to the planet, had finally made its presence known through the wispy cloud cover, and shone its watery light across the curved face of the setting planet. A gong sounded somewhere, and people started moving decisively to their predetermined locations.

Amrit-kar led Jim to the exact middle of the first bench and deposited him there with a touch of her silky fingers. “Please sit here. My fellow representatives will arrive to pay their respects to the Federation soon.” Gertan-in equally as solicitously led Spock to sit beside his captain, and turned one mysterious flat, black look on Jim before turning away. Uhura sat beside Spock, looking as beautiful and exotic as any of the aliens present, and McCoy - his professional grimace firmly on - sat next to her, followed by Hendorff and Mills, the other security officer.

A succession of Tenarian dignitaries from the eight main governing bodies did stop by to offer Jim and his crew the ubiquitous palm up salute; they weren’t all lithe and shiny like the original trio, but ranged from there to portly, sometimes the skin being a little less glossy and a little more abraded or dusty looking, sometimes the scales less uniform and delineated, rather more worn and chipped around the edges. Nevertheless, the humans found it hard not to stare. As the blue shadows lengthened across the mossy lawn, everyone was seated, Amrit-kar to Jim’s right, and Gertan-in beside her.

An older representative, Amor-kan of the united council of the governments present, stood beside the round table and spoke into a microphone type device that had miraculously appeared courtesy of one of the many behind-the-scenes personnel. The main language of diplomatic communication between the Tenarians was like their gait - clipped, chirpy and bird-like. Amor-kan punctuated her speech with sweeping motions of her frail arms, and Jim found himself moved by her adept oration. She spoke of a momentous and important occasion, of fair and transparent partnership, of a bright future as a member of the Federation - inclining her head in Jim’s direction - and of fostering cooperation by finding common ground. The press corps from the cordoned off area seemed equally as impressed, and flashes from recording type devices punctuated the deepening evening.

There was an effulgence as U And d sunk finally below the horizon, followed at almost the same moment by Upsilon Andromedae A. A gong sounded again and Amor-kan stepped away from the microphone to receive a sheaf of papers from an attendant. Twinkling lights came on overhead and all around them like a cloud of fireflies as the eight members of the Tenarian delegation rose and made their way to the round table where the papers had been handed out. The Enterprise crew were hard pressed to find any other signing ceremony as sublime as the one they were witnessing, and were suitably awestruck.

At length, the ceremony concluded after obligatory recordkeeping was taken, and Jim and the others were escorted to some other tents with their fabric sides lifted and tied back to let in the balmy night breezes. Amidst the glimmering lights, shining like miniscule stars even from within the mossy lawn, and the copious amounts of food and drink, Jim cheekily bid his team to enjoy themselves with an admonishment of “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do”, and turned to find Amrit-kar at one elbow and Gertan-in at the other. He glanced back briefly to find Spock’s unfathomable dark eyes turned in his direction before being bodily led away by the two enthusiastic aliens.

As darkness fell completely, whatever was in the amber liquid was affecting Jim in the best way, as was Gertan-in’s spicy scent. Amrit-kar didn’t seem to have any scent to her, but her larger gemlike eyes and sensuous curving lines were equally as alluring. There was some tinkly music floating about like far off trickling water, played by unseen musicians, and the undercurrent of Tenarian voices soothed the captain into a languid torpor. There must have been some understanding between the two aliens when Jim wasn’t looking, because they both now seemed amicably to share him. Amrit-kar was bolder and placed her small hands on his knee, squeezing to enunciate some point she was making in the conversation, while Gertan-in was all coy looks with lowered eyes and slight brushes seemingly by accident as he replenished Jim’s drink or plate of food. Jim had the predisposition to glance around to see if he was being treated to an unusual amount of overly familiar behaviour, but the other Tenarians seemed to be equally as affectionate amongst themselves and his crew. Hendorff was blushing slightly as Inus-swei had taken a shine to him, and was currently trying to keep the male from feeding him assorted delicacies while keeping a weather eye on his captain. Only Spock stood aloof, like a rock in a flowing, glistening stream, clutching a drink and regarding both his captain and his girlfriend with a dispassionate air in turns.

“We do hope you will stay on Tenari tonight, Kirk of the Federation,” said Amrit-kar, sliding her hand further up Jim’s thigh.

“Yes, the nights here are wonderful for relaxing the mind and the body.” Gertan-in added, his face so close that his warm breath ghosted over Jim’s jawline.

Jim cleared his throat and shifted slightly as his groin started to take an interest in the proceedings, “It’s certainly very peaceful here,” he admitted.

All around him, he noticed that couples and small groups were breaking off and wandering off into the brilliant night. The mission briefing had not mentioned explicitly that the Tenarians were promiscuous or polyamourous, but there was a footnote that referenced that the raising of children was done communally, and that families were not so much delineated by bloodline as by chosen bonds and groupings.

He glanced around again to locate his crew and Amrit-kar, noticing his hesitation said, “Your people are also welcome to partake of whomsoever they choose, or join us, if that is your custom.”

Jim blushed suddenly at that, and caught both of his close friends’ eyes at that moment. Spock and McCoy were standing together by some potted plants, staring critically at their captain. Abruptly, colour high on his cheeks, Jim felt a surge of rebelliousness. He stood, nearly upsetting his drink, and held one hand out to Amrit-kar and the other to Gertan-in. They took them simultaneously and rose to his side.

“I would be very pleased to join you both for the night,” he said loudly enough to be overheard. Jim nodded a dismissal to Hendorff and stepped decisively from the tent into the wide open, desert scented darkness.

He was led to a sort of cloth lined bower set up by the lakeside, lit about with a profusion of fairy lights and strewn with large, soft cushions. The music drifted out to them across the water, and Jim could hear voices emanating from similar spots dotted about the expanse of lawn.

“Is this a normal part of your culture? Or do you only put on such a show for off-world dignitaries?” asked Jim with a smile.

“Our ceremonies of joining are always accompanied with such celebrations,” Amrit-kar informed him, pulling at both his hands as she entered the flocculent interior.

“We celebrate all the various modes of joining,” added Gertan-in from behind him, “and we are very gratified that the Federation honours our customs.”

“The Federation does its best--” and Jim’s words were cut off as the male pushed him towards his female counterpart, who opened her supple arms and her mouth to receive him with enthusiasm.

Amrit-kar’s mouth was small like the rest of her, but she kissed with exuberance, and her nimble hands made quick work of Jim’s stiff suit jacket, unfastening it and pushing it off his shoulders as Gertan-in reached around to hike up Jim’s undershirt and splay his hands over his abdomen, running deft fingers over the defined musculature he found there.

They fell in a tumble of limbs among the cushions, and just as easily, robes were unclipped and fell in shimmering pools to the ground. Jim noted how the lights glistened and sparkled over the aliens’ skin, and he clasped Amrit-kar’s slender waist and buried his face into her soft chest, which was as silky as the rest of her and sported two small pairs of mounds and four erect nipples. ‘Mammalian’ interjected Jim’s scientific brain into the aroused haze of his thoughts, and he sighed into Amrit-kar’s breasts as he felt a very familiar protuberance nudging hot and wet into the small of his back, ‘definitely not Aves’.

Gertan-in kissed a line across his shoulder blades as Amrit-kar divested Jim of the rest of his clothing. She seemed intrigued by the downy hair that trailed from his belly button to his crotch, and ran her finger scales through it, causing Jim to gasp out loud and then moan when her hands dove, one into the curls of his pubic hair and the other around his erection.

“I want to see, Amrit,” breathed Gertan-in huskily, and gently turned Jim to face him. The male’s form was more angular to the female’s delicate curves, and Jim couldn’t help but reach out to run his hands over Gertan-in’s broad chest, the ribbed linear muscles on either side of a bisecting ridge of cartilage, and down over metal smooth thighs. The alien’s penis was substantial, curved and textured all over in a scaled pattern like the backs of his hands. It shone dully, the reflections dusky in the dim light like the rest of him, and a lateral ridge down its length was oozing a thick fluid. In counterpoint, Gertan-in’s hands came up to Jim’s nipples, and curious fingers pinched and rubbed them to cherry-pipped hardness. “You are like a female,” he observed, tweaking a nipple. “Do you suckle your young?”

Jim’s mouth was dry with arousal but he managed, “No, humans develop similarly in-utero and only later...aahh,” as Gertan-in applied a hot tongue to his left nipple, “...develop sexual dimorphism based on...mph!” he squeaked, as Amrit-kar’s exploratory fingers found the cleft of his ass cheeks and the opening therein, “...chemical changes within the wombhh...” Gertan-in had abandoned his nipple and had licked his way to Jim’s straining cock, laving at the pearling pre-cum he found there.

It seemed then that Amrit-kar sparked upon a brilliant idea and following suit, moved around to Jim’s front, climbing over her partner to place her vagina directly in front of his face. Jim rolled on his back to better facilitate access to all parties, cupped the female’s bum as she straddled his head and brought his lips and tongue to her entrance. It was strangely scentless as the rest of her and pale, like the colour of warm sand. Fleshy petal-like lips quivered and opened around a tight hole that was slick with a clear, viscous fluid. Jim inserted his tongue deep within and lapped as his lips created a suction around her opening. Amrit-kar’s hands dropped to his hair and she squeezed his head in mounting pleasure.

Jim felt he wouldn’t last long as the sensations of alien cunt shivering around his tongue, and alien mouth engulfing his cock, and wet, warm heat suffusing his entire body threatened to push him over the edge. But the two compatriots were not finished with their lovemaking, and just as Jim’s balls were starting to tighten, Gertan-in released his penis with a pop, causing the man to groan in frustration at the sobering air that rushed cool against his member. Amrit-kar, likewise, prised herself off of him. Jim frowned in sudden confusion, his face still lust-soaked and blurred. Gertan-in chuckled, “Do not look so downcast, Kirk of the Federation, we are merely preparing for the main event.”

He grabbed Jim’s shoulders and drew him up to kiss him full on the lips, tongue invading his mouth and curling against his teeth. Jim shuddered with desire, overwhelmed by the strength of the alien, and flung his arms around his neck feverishly. Some clinical part of him realized that of the two Tenarian sexes, it must be the male that did the bulk of the seduction. Gertan-in was emitting from some, Jim surmised, glands at the base of his head a scented pheromone cocktail that left the bower redolent and pungently aromatic. He felt lightheaded and drugged, and every part of him seemed languid and heavy.

They manhandled Jim onto his hands and knees over top of Amrit-kar, who now lay pliant and open beneath him, her hips canted up from some cushions shoved under her lower back. She grabbed his side with her left hand and guided his penis, saliva and pre-cum glistening, towards her moist and blossoming orifice. Jim looked down as he entered her, noticing with interest that his skin tone was reflected against her skin, and her pubic region flushed darker not from any display of her own excitation, but from his mirrored arousal. He closed his eyes and sank down to his furthest extent into her, feeling hot, wet heat engulfing him. He started to move with almost involuntary urgency, but his eyes fluttered open when he felt strong, masculine hands rubbing his ass, tracing the lines found there, and then prising his cheeks apart. Lubed, deft digits swirled around his asshole and then firmly but gently entered him, first one, then another followed soon after, and then one more, and Jim gasped out loud at the answering burn that gave way oh so quickly to pleasure. He found himself thrusting into Amrit-kar and backing up to impale himself on Gertan-in’s fingers.

Gertan-in then stilled Jim’s thrusts with his free hand gripped around his hip bone, and removed those deliciously invasive fingers. Jim tensed in expectation of the inevitable. He didn’t have to wait long to feel the head of the male’s penis trail a tickling line past his tailbone and push inexorably forwards, the delicious, blunt force penetrating him, the ridges and prominent seam increasing his sensitivity to a fever pitch. Jim exhaled sharply at the too full feeling; trapped, skewered and skewering, his very pores pouring forth overwhelming desire. Gertan-in’s smooth chest was a cool counterpoint to Jim’s febrile skin as he loomed from behind and started to move in a mounting rhythm. Jim buried his face in Amrit-kar’s neck, feeling the bony flanges pressing into his cheeks and forehead, and surrendered like some trapped animal, his body held in a vice between the two aliens as they both pistoned in and out of him, over and over. It was all he could do to hold his quivering muscles still as their joined intercourse ratcheted up to its climax.

Too soon, with a stuttering cry, Jim rode the crest of mounting friction and orgasmed hard, sparks bursting behind his eyelids as he shot his cum into Amrit-kar. Her cunt seemed to suck at him, the petals encompassing his cock pulsating and milking him as she shook in her own release. Not a minute later, Gertan-in joined them, and Jim could feel the ring of his asshole expand almost painfully around the male’s length as it throbbed and filled Jim full to bursting.

The echoes and aftershocks of copulation slowly ebbed as Jim and Gertan-in fell on their sides to avoid crushing Amrit-kar’s slight form beneath their combined weight. Now released, Jim could feel the dead weight of his member sticky and hot against his thigh, and a trickle of searing fluid oozed from his ass and snaked down his thighs. Still heady from the afterglow, he didn’t protest as he was almost bodily hauled upright by Gertan-in and, walking arm in arm in arm, they made their way down to the lake and into its enveloping, cleansing coolness.

Jim was not fully aware of his surroundings, only noticing with passing interest as the pair cleaned him gently that the tinkling music had stopped, to be replaced with the quiet chirruping of night insects and the slow lap of water on the pebbled shore. They returned to the bower and shifted into a comfortable pile of tangled limbs and soft furnishings, and as the alien night deepened, Jim surrendered to a dreamless sleep as his naked skin slowly dried in the fragrant breeze.

The morning arrived slowly, like thin syrup pouring over the land as the planet rose majestically into the sky. Jim’s awareness returned in stages, noting the emptiness on either side of him, a dull but pleasing ache in his posterior and a luminous warmth suffusing his face. He stretched languidly and then frowned when he sensed a shadow fall across him. His eyes snapped open and focused on a tall dark form silhouetted against the bright morning sky.

Spock looked down at him, his brow darkening with a flash of...anger? But the moment shifted and his face quickly schooled into an impassive gaze that took in his captain’s nakedness. Jim blushed down to his collarbone in spite of himself and he scrabbled for a cushion to hide his crotch.

“Good morning, Spock, been standing there long?” he said defensively.

“Negative, Captain,” came the benign reply. “I came to tell you that our hosts have graciously left breakfast refreshments which we are to partake at our leisure before returning to the Enterprise.”

“Oh. That’s nice of them.” Jim scratched a hand through his stubble and surreptitiously looked around for his discarded dress uniform. Then a thought occurred to him, “did the whole away team spend the night here? Did you?”

“I believe so, Captain. Our hosts are welcoming and the evening proved enjoyable for many parties. Lieutenant Uhura and I decided to avail ourselves of the ...romantic… surroundings and passed the night satisfactorily.”

“Huh,” Jim fought down a strange, bitter feeling that rose, unbidden, in his chest. “Yes, it was certainly romantic, wasn’t it.” He smiled at his first officer a little wistfully, and then spotted his uniform and his underwear, which were folded neatly in a pile at the base of a fabric wrapped pole.

“I will leave you to get dressed, Sir,” said Spock, and he disappeared as silently as he had arrived.

As Jim reached over to grab his clothes, he noticed that they were folded in military fashion.

The original trio of Tenarians were joined by some younger members of the delegation as the Enterprise crew prepared to depart, all milling about in relaxed camaraderie. Gertan-in and Amrit-kar kissing Jim full on the mouth did not escape McCoy’s attention, and his steely, disapproving glare dared the captain to protest being dragged into Sickbay for a full medical upon their return to the ship.

“I thought I told you to keep that thing,” flicking a contemptuous hand in the direction of Jim’s groin, “in your pants!” They were together in a private examining room, Jim’s legs dangling off the side of a biobed.

“What was I supposed to do, Bones? They were attractive and so help me god, I needed the release!” Jim whined irritably.

“You could have said no, you could have just kept it to a little light petting, you could have done  _ any _ number of things other than spread your legs like a common whore!” The doctor punctuated the exclamation with a vicious jab of a hypospray to Jim’s neck.

“Ah!” the captain flinched in pain, “Give it a rest! It was just harmless good fun!”

“It’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye,” McCoy snarled through gritted teeth, “or gets an STI or some godforsaken alien disease!” He drew back to click another cartridge into the device, and slammed the hypo into the side of Jim’s neck again.

“Staahp, you sadist!” Jim howled.

*  * *

Spock had taken the conn after the away team beamed back aboard the Enterprise and the captain was dragged off to Sickbay, under duress. He sat in the command chair, lost in his own thoughts, and barely moved until alpha shift was completed. The captain had not returned to the bridge. As if on autopilot, Spock returned to his quarters and composed a perfunctory and succinct report for Starfleet, taking care to delicately skirt around the captain’s proclivities and what the crew  _ actually _ did after the signing ceremony. Then he showered, dressed in his customary off-duty robes and sank to the foot of his bed to meditate. However, Spock’s efforts to clear his mind were thwarted by an image that refused to be suppressed, and instead kept bobbing to the forefront of his mind with annoying persistence. He found himself both intrigued and vaguely repulsed, and narrowed his focus to a sensation of morning sunlight warm on his back even as his mind’s eye gazed upon a golden figure spread out among flaxen cushions. Spock sighed in resignation when his door chime sounded after an hour’s fruitless meditation, called out, “Enter,” and rose elegantly as Uhura stepped lightly through the doorway.

She reached up to embrace him; warm, soft hands on either side of his face and opened her mouth as Spock bent to cover it with his. Nyota’s kisses were always sweet and full of unspoken caring, and Spock sailed willingly into her safe harbour.

“The deep space reconnaissance project is producing some interesting results,” she said conversationally, when they broke apart. “I’ll have to narrow the bandwidth of the collected data in order to extract some sense out of all the background static though.”

“Fascinating,” murmured Spock, reaching for Nyota again and running his fingers through her long, ebony hair. With uncharacteristic urgency, the Vulcan crushed his mouth to hers, tongue snaking out between her lips.

She giggled, “What’s this? Still riding the afterglow of Tenari D04-15? Was this what you were thinking about when you were so quiet on the bridge?” Nyota hummed with pleasure when she felt Spock unzip her uniform, and slide his broad hands underneath and across her umber coloured skin. She wormed her hands between them to untie the lacings of his meditation robe, and as it fell to the floor, Spock yanked her uniform all the way off and leaned over to sweep her into his arms and carry her to the bed.

Spock scooted down Nyota’s body with little preamble, breathed into the crook of her groin and trailed wet kisses over her pubic mound. His tongue flicked out and settled with a firm pressure over her clitoris, swirling and licking until she gasped and placed her palm on his smooth black bangs. Her other hand rested on his as he reached up and fondled her pert breast, squeezing gently and encircling an erect nipple between thumb and forefinger. Their sexual episodes weren’t infrequent, but did tend toward the routine as was normal for couples who had been together for an extended period of time. However, Nyota was more used to what she privately termed ‘careful sex’ with Spock. It was rare for him to be so forward and insistent. Any further musings were curtailed as she gave into the pleasure of her boyfriend’s tongue, which was tracing rhythmic circles around her clit, and orgasm followed soon after, pouring a profusion of slick juice over his chin.

Spock raised almost immediately above her, and lined his swollen, deep emerald erection against her moist opening. Nyota gripped his forearms and cried out as she was penetrated to the hilt. He felt hotter than normal, almost feverish, and his cock slid with fluid urgency in and out of her. Vulcan males self-lubricated copiously when sufficiently aroused, and his precum oozed out of her as she fought to clench her vagina tight around him. His face looked fierce, and there was an almost terrifying fury burning in his eyes that made Nyota’s heart suddenly clench with worry. His expression lightened somewhat at her reaction, which must have communicated itself through their touch, and he bent down to kiss her in silent apology. Spock’s hips drove faster against her then, and he closed his eyes and threw his head back as his orgasm flooded through him. He fell against her soft, lissome body, breathing quickly through his mouth, and she enfolded his muscular frame in protective arms.

*  * *

Nothing more was said about the exomoon of the Upsilon Andromadae system or its alluring natives. Those who had beamed to the surface did not kiss and tell. Spock, who had taken liberties and peeked at the captain’s report, saw that Jim had only noted that the mission was successful, and that the Federation had managed to garner a steadfast and hopefully long lasting friendship with the adroit and sophisticated Tenarians. It was another feather in the cap of the highly lauded Captain James T. Kirk.

Said Captain Kirk seemed to have gotten over his displeasure at his XO’s overly solicitous behaviour, and Commander Spock wisely kept his reservations over his captain’s wanton behaviour to himself, for now. Routine soon settled over the ship like snowfall over Mount Vesuvius.

The Enterprise and her crew now headed away from the binary star system towards uncharted space, and a frisson of anticipation underscored the various scientific and technological research projects the captain gave his departments free reign to conduct. Sulu, Spock and some of the medical research team had formed an unlikely alliance between botany, microbiology, chemistry and genome research, and were doing clandestine experiments in the bowels of the labs which Jim, knowing Sulu, suspected might be somewhat nefarious. Jim himself joined Scotty and Chekov and climbed over coolant tanks, through jeffries tubes, and picked apart bits of his ship with greasy abandon. Uhura seemed to have commandeered the whole communications team into her deep space recon project, and it was this undertaking that unexpectedly garnered the most interesting results, if that was the correct word for what she discovered, two days after Tenari D04-15.

On the bridge during the quiet hours of gamma shift, Uhura’s console was littered with data chips as she and one of her assistants sorted through a pile of acquired data. The lieutenant had one hand pressed over her earpiece to more effectively zero in on the faint transmission she was receiving through the wider band of static white noise. She squinted again at the readouts on her PADD and scrolled through lists of spectrograms, zooming in on numerous striations and wave patterns. She flicked a couple of switches and looked over to her assistant hovering over her left shoulder, “Run sequence 53 again, Potts, and up the gain at the 15 second mark.”

Ensign Potts riffled through the data chips for a second and extracted one, popping it into a slot to the side of the main communications console. The clear chip glowed blue as it engaged playback.

Uhura flicked her ponytail back over her shoulder as her eyes widened in revelation and surprise. “Now run sequence 24, 36, 67 and uh, 68 again, in that order, and splice the transmissions together with a 0.25 second overlap.” Her assistant scrambled to comply, pulling out data chips and punching decisively at the console.

She checked and triple checked the recordings, made some micro-adjustments and then stood suddenly, pulling her earpiece off and staring at Potts with a look of consternation creasing her brow. “I need to...I have to...the captain,” and she turned back around and pressed a button on her comm.

“Uhura to Captain Kirk,” there was a pause and then,

“Kirk here.”

“Captain, there’s something I need you to listen to.”

“Right now? I’m kinda elbow deep in the third auxiliary manifold.”

“I think it’s important, sir.” Uhura was firm, but anyone close to her would have noted a minute tremor in her voice.

“Alright, I’ll be right up. Kirk out.”

After a few tense minutes, the turbolift doors slid open and Jim stepped onto the bridge, a smudge of grease still clinging to his brow. He made his way over to Uhura’s station and raised an eyebrow at the PADDs and communications paraphernalia scattered about her usually pristine console. She turned earnest, dark brown eyes on him and then looked back to where her fingers were hovering over the playback button.

“What’s all this about, Lieutenant?” asked Jim.

“As you know, Captain, the Communications Department has been running some deep space telemetries. A few days ago, we picked up some unusual subspace transmissions, on not one, but several long range bands. It was a lot of static and false leads because it seemed to have bounced through a dozen or more relays, but there was definitely something there.” She pulled up a spectrogram and gestured at it, “we just combined several of the transmissions and ran a filter, well, more than one, through the package. This is what we discovered,” and her fingers touched the button on her screen.

There was a fair amount of static, but the voice that played back was definitely human, a woman, and was speaking in Standard. “...I’m trusting this piece of...Ansen rigged it up...Oberth is compromi...I’m certain...of all the crew...I’m not sure...loyalties, but Jim…”

Jim slammed his hand down on the console and the transmission cut off.

“I’ll take the message in my ready room, Lieutenant,” and the captain marched quickly off the bridge, his back poker straight.

Uhura stared after him for a moment, biting her lip, and then swung back to face her console, earpiece reinserted and fingers flying adeptly over the screens.

“ _ Stardate 22...3 point 146...Lieuten...Comm..der Winona Kirk. There isn’t much ti...so I’m trusting this piece of junk will...signal...as Ansen rigged it up. It is my beli...th...t...Oberth is compromised. Captain Howard, I’m certain...sev...al...others. Ansen, Biggs...T-chai..t are th...ly ones of all the crew...I’m not sure who...se has loyalties, but Jim, there’s som...ing bad going on. We were tak...off cours...cl...t...the neutral zone. He...ordered...s t...orb...t an unnamed planetary system. Real...stro...g UV abs...tion indic...t...ve...of…Tra...r dep...ts. We...sent down t...planet. Th...aw...team made up…Ansen...and others. Rocky...geo...ical..y unstable and extr...me press...s. I am se….d...ng coordinates….i...another package. I thi...k someone is...tr...g...kill us.” _

The strong static overwhelmed any recovery attempts to parse the data from this portion of the recording, but Winona Kirk’s re-emerged through the hissing after a moment.

“... _ You’re a...st...rsh...p...captain now, Jim. You need...g...t the bottom of this myster...use...y...r influence. I ha...faith in...u. I’m so proud...f...u. I know you can...o...is. Find...me. I...so...ry. For everyt...ng. F...t...bei...there when you ne...d...e. Hey, if I ge...out of th..mess alive...t’s try again, yeah? Wh...god...m signal! It’s...cu...ng…out” _

The silence was ringing as the transmission ended. Jim sat, solitary and frozen in place, piercing blue eyes affixed to the comm unit on his desk. The dark calm of his face belied the dozen difficult emotions churning in his chest. His back was flat against the back of the chair, and for a moment, it seemed as if he had been turned to stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 title is from Shakespeare's As You Like It.
> 
> There's been significant discussion as to whether the portrayal of Kirk as a womanizer or a promiscuous person was really warranted or not in the TOS series. Personally, I feel it was an inaccurate portrayal of the character, distorted over the decades since the show was on air. However, I believe the reboot movies just ran with the stereotype of a brash and fun-loving Kirk without much consideration to his motivations, reinforcing that erroneous stereotype. I attempted in this chapter to correct this rather two dimensional characterization of AOS Captain Kirk - presenting a more sympathetic version of a man, unhappy or deeply dissatisfied about something and lashing out / trying to find outlets to relieve his inner demons.
> 
> Comments, feedback, (polite) discussion is always welcomed in the comments. Please follow me on my Twitter for Star Trek / Spirk nonsense.


	4. Travelers never did lie, though fools at home condemn them

“Well, what do you guys think?” Jim looked from Spock, to Bones, and back again. He had played the transmission twice over after summoning them to his ready room. His two closest friends looked at each other, as if daring the other to speak first.

“We know you well enough, Jim. You’re not going to let this go.” McCoy pinned him with an appraising look. “Frankly, I’m surprised you haven’t already ordered the Enterprise to engage in hot pursuit.”

“I concur. The message that Lieutenant Commander Kirk…” and then Spock softened his voice perceptibly, “that your mother sent you was obviously dispatched at great personal expense, and the fact that it was concealed with such a high degree of secrecy is indicative of its sensitive and potentially compromising nature. We would do well to heed its significance.”

Jim nodded and his brow remained wrinkled. He reached over to his desk and pressed the comm button. “Lieutenant, have you decrypted the data package with the coordinates yet?”

“Yes, Sir. Sending it over now,” came Uhura’s voice.

The three officers gathered around the screen as a star chart appeared and then zoomed in to a particular system. It was unnamed, and very close to the neutral zone.

“Christ,” breathed McCoy. “Jim, if we’re not careful we’re going to end up on the wrong side of the Romulans. This could start an intergalactic war!” he said with understandable consternation.

“Yeah, I’m well aware of that. And there’s also the problem of Starfleet. We don’t know to what extent the...to what height the level of compromise goes. Hell, I don’t even know what exactly we’re looking for here.” Jim licked his lips, his arms clasped tight across his chest.

Then Spock spoke up, and said, “Captain, I believe it  _ is _ the mandate of our five year mission to fulfill the exploration of uncharted space. Hence, we would actually be following Starfleet’s orders to the letter.”

“And what about the fact that we’re going to have to conceal where we’re going? Nobody can know these coordinates but us, at least until we determine what the hell we’re dealing with.” McCoy countered.

Spock turned back to the comm screen and made some calculations. “If we travelled from our current location at maximum warp, we would reach the system in approximately 42.85 hours. I had received an abstract from Lieutenant Uhura which outlined her proposal to boost the sensor telemetry for her deep space reconnaissance project. I believe the enhancements to the array would render the system inoperative for exactly 48 hours.”

There was a pregnant pause, and then comprehension dawned on the doctor’s face. Jim grinned, looking inexplicably proud. “Surreptitiousness, Spock?” he mused, “and what about your compulsion to follow the rules?”

“I am not aware that I have disregarded any protocol, Captain.”

Jim’s shit-eating grin was back, but Spock merely affected a look of mild incomprehension. McCoy shook his head, returning his captain’s infectious smile, and sighed at the revelation that the world as he knew it had shifted irrevocably.

The Enterprise set a course for the unnamed system in the middle of unknown space at a blistering warp 8. Sections of the communications long range systems were taken offline, positioning arrays were dismantled for “upgrades”, and the entire crew dutifully “played dumb”. In fact, very little was actually divulged by Captain Kirk or the rest of the command staff, but everyone knew their captain’s style by now to trust that whatever covert mission they might be on would guarantee interesting and exciting times for everyone involved. After all, one did not request a commission aboard the Federation’s flagship for the routine assignments.

But uncharacteristically, Jim continued to brood even though he had not only gotten what he wanted, but had the full support of his crew to do it. Inexplicably, Spock could sense that his captain was in an irascible mood. He glanced periodically over to the command chair and the back of a dark golden head bent over a PADD, which undoubtedly displayed the transcript of Winona Kirk’s fragmented transmission. If Spock allowed himself to have an imagination, he would have imagined a dark thundercloud sitting atop the captain’s head.

However, these wonderings were illogical, so instead Spock surveyed the console to his left, where Uhura was frantically continuing more clean-up of the data packet as well as scanning the LCARS for any information within the Federation database about the system they were barrelling towards. She was always serious when she was on shift, and her no-nonsense attitude was grounding and solid in contrast to the captain’s brilliant and unpredictable mindset. Spock appreciated the steadfastness of her dedication to both her responsibilities and him. He appreciated too, that she did not comment on his loss of control when he had forcibly initiated intercourse a few days ago. Spock had attempted to decipher why he had done what he did. It was not his ‘time’, he was sure of it, and he was physically uncompromised by any illness. He wondered then at this feeling of increasing agitation within his mind that he seemed unable to quell despite increasing his nightly meditation regime. 

Spock heard Jim slam the PADD down on the armrest, bounce up from his chair and walk up to the main viewscreen. The Vulcan followed his form as it stood for several minutes, looking ostensibly at the darkness of space and the helm system readouts that were displayed there as the parsecs flew by, and then as the captain began pacing restlessly back and forth. Jim’s head suddenly snapped up and caught Spock looking at him. He held him in an intense gaze, the sapphire colour of his irises evident to the other man even from the distance across the bridge. Jim’s stare was almost challenging and imperceptibly at first, but with gathering intensity, a kind of mental push like psychic static seemed to brush against Spock’s mind as he observed his captain. His eyes widened, not quite understanding what he was feeling but curiosity mounting nonetheless. Tentatively, he reached out the equivalent of mental fingertips to touch this static. There was a spark that Spock ‘saw’; a flash behind his eyes. He heard his captain audibly gasp and take a step back, his heel striking the bulwark next to the viewscreen.

As the afterimages cleared, Sulu cleared his throat loudly, and asked, “Are you alright, Captain?”

“What the hell…” Jim looked confused, and then glanced back up at Spock briefly before peering around him, his fingers reaching to his forehead. There was colour high on his cheeks as he realized that helm control, ops and navigation were looking at him strangely. He opened his mouth, and then the chime signalling the end of shift sounded, saving the captain from further scrutiny.

Jim wandered off the bridge, rubbing at his temple absentmindedly. By the time the turbolift doors closed behind him, he wasn’t sure whether he had imagined the whole thing. There was the vaguest of sensations pulling like the ghost of a headache behind his skull, but more puzzling than that was a strange feeling like heartache that fluttered beneath his collarbone. He recalled the only other time he had felt something similar, on Delta Vega, after the mind meld with Spock’s...older self. He must be overly tired, Jim surmised, and this whole mystery surrounding Mom’s death...Perhaps he would go and see if Bones wanted to indulge in a relaxing nightcap. 

His feet took him on autopilot to Sickbay, and he walked past triage where he could see McCoy administering a hypo to a crew member - Jim winced in sympathy, but Bones always seemed to be gentler with everyone else other than Jim - and sank down into the chair opposite the doctor’s desk. His bad mood settled over him like a cloak again, and he picked peevishly at the fabric of the armrest, more annoyed about how he couldn’t seem to escape his thoughts than about the thoughts themselves. Presently, Dr. McCoy entered his office and sighed when he saw Jim sitting there.

“Don’t sigh, Bones, aren’t you glad to see me?” Jim craned his head up and pouted.

“Yeah, kid, I’m glad to see you.” Like a mindreader, McCoy went over to the shelves behind his desk and brought down an expensive looking bottle half full of shimmering amber liquid. He poured out two generous glasses and pushed one across to Jim, who took it gratefully.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine, fine…” Jim scrunched up his face and bared his teeth in a mockery of a grin.

“You’re not fine. Now, are you going to talk to me or am I going to have to sedate you?”

Jim stared balefully at McCoy over the rim of his glass and then dropped his eyes and sighed. “I can’t seem to get my brain to shut up. I exhaust myself ripping apart bits of Engineering with Scotty after shift, I work out...a lot, I...well, tried to distract myself in other ways.” He took a large swallow of his whiskey and continued, “but then, on top of everything that’s already going on up here,” pulling at his hair frustratedly, “Mom not only dies, but she sends some super cryptic message from beyond the grave.”

McCoy rose, crossed over to the front of his desk, and perched on it, facing the captain. Jim continued, “I’m supposed to know what I’m doing. I’ve earned the Chair and I...I’ve always got some sort of plan...hell, everyone expects me to have a plan, anyway, but right now I feel like I can barely keep my skin from flying apart,” another swig from the glass, “And then there was this completely bizarre thing that happened just now…” he looked up at McCoy and then placed his glass on the table, standing up as he did so. Jim stepped forward and pressed into the doctor’s personal space, one hand on McCoy’s thigh and the other reaching with the intention of wrapping around the back of his neck.

McCoy tried to lean back, away from Jim’s sudden invasion, but he was trapped with the back of his legs against the desk. “What are you doing, Jim?” his voice had an edge of panic, “Jim?”

“Trying something, just go with it.” Jim leaned forward and pressed his forehead to the doctor’s, his hand cradled against the short, dark cropped hair, fingers stroking. Then, he twisted his head and caught McCoy’s half-open mouth in his own. The other man made a high-pitched sound in his throat, but Jim only deepened the kiss, a heated tongue flicking out and tasting the remnants of whiskey on both their lips. McCoy’s eyes fluttered closed and as the contact progressed, he gripped low on Jim’s waist to pull him closer in a sudden burst of possessiveness. They kissed long and deeply, mouths opening and teeth scraping in an effort to taste more of each other, and McCoy became aware of his erection pressing hot and insistent into the side of Jim’s own hard-on. It wasn’t like they had never flirted, and theirs was the kind of ‘walk out of the bathroom naked and share the same blanket on movie nights’ type friendship, but they’d never actually kissed.

Then as suddenly as he had started, Jim broke away and stared critically at McCoy, his lips swollen red and glistening with a trail of spittle.

Let it never be said the doctor was slow to react. His manner went from aroused to incessed in a split second, “Wha...Have you been lured into a Talosian mind trap?! What in bloody blue blazes was that!!”

“I wanted to see what sort of reaction would happen,” shrugged Jim, nonchalant.

“What sort of reaction...why you...I’m not one of your two drink, wham, bam, thank you mam cheap dates, you horndog!”

“Oh, are you saying you’re an expensive date then?” Jim grinned like a feral cat.

“I’m not  _ any _ kind of date!” McCoy straightened his uniform angrily and self-consciously, and retreated behind the desk as a protective measure. “Now you tell me what this is all about, or so help me--!”

Jim sat back down, the glass of whiskey back in his hand. “I felt something, just now, on the bridge. I was wondering if I could recreate it.”

“What sort of something?” asked McCoy, curious despite himself.

“Like a headache, but not painful...like something was calling to me, in my...mind.”

“Do you know what you were doing at the time?”

“Just...staring, thinking...I don’t really remember. Spock was,” Jim ran a hand through his caramel coloured hair, “He was looking at me.”

“Looking at you,” McCoy deadpanned.

“I guess? Maybe,” he shook his head, “Look, let’s just drop it. Pretend I didn’t say or do anything. I’m sorry for earlier. This whole thing with Mom just has me second guessing everything.”

The doctor’s mouth twisted in sympathy, “Look, Sweetheart, maybe you’re gonna have to just bite the bullet and face all your demons head on. Otherwise they’re gonna eat you alive.” Jim was silent, and drained the rest of the alcohol in his glass. “You could talk to him. Hell, you’re his closest friend, and it’s plain as day how protective he is of you.”

“It’s absurd, but I can’t stand him judging me. He was totally judging me, Bones, that morning on Tenari. I didn’t tell you he caught me--”

“In flagrante delicto,” McCoy finished for him.

“Well, the morning after, anyway.” Jim smiled ruefully. “No, I have to stay focused on the task at hand. We don’t know what’s out there, what’s waiting for us when we get to the system. This isn’t a time to be distracted.”

“And what’s going to happen when those cracks split and you fall apart, Jim?”  
“That’s why I have you around to pick up the pieces, Bones.” He reached across the table and squeezed his friend’s forearm, then stood up. “Thanks for the drink...and the kiss.”

Dr. McCoy shook his head as the door closed on the captain’s retreating form. The problem with Jim Kirk was that he was still trying to solve all the world’s problems by himself, as if he was still that lonely, angry boy staring into the endless abyss, daring it to swallow him whole. No matter how close his friends, or how capable his crew, he would shoulder all their burdens, because it was his way of protecting them, of expressing gratitude. They were his only family.

“You don’t need to, Jimmy boy. We’d follow you unto death if we could,” he whispered into the silence of his office.

The command team was summoned to the bridge as the Enterprise dropped out of warp near a planetary system littered with asteroids. 

“On screen,” ordered the captain.

The ship was surrounded by freewheeling rocks, some a few kilometres across, and dense clouds of space dust. Sounds of the larger debris hitting the shields reverberated through her corridors and shook the crew on the bridge. Jim looked worriedly over at Chekov, who dutifully answered, “Shields holding steady at 98%, Keptin, we are in no danger.”

“Nevertheless…” Jim murmured, his face thoughtful. “Thank you Mr. Chekov. Sulu, try and maneuver around the larger pieces.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Spock twisted around from where he had been bent over his console, and fixed Jim with one of his classic cocked eyebrow looks. “Captain, it appears that the asteroid field we are currently in may have been formed quite recently, given the density and size of the particulate. I calculate that this phenomenon occurred less than 50 Standard years ago.” he straightened up and folded his hands behind his back. “Furthermore, the particular spread pattern of this field is indicative of a very violent geological event from a single point of origin. Two large interstellar objects colliding, or perhaps even...the destruction of an entire planet.”

Jim sat down in his command chair, eyes fixed on the main viewscreen, impervious to the intermittent sounds of rocks hitting the hull. “Let’s run a few more scans. See what we’re dealing with here.”

The bridge crew bent over their tasks with customary diligence, the captain’s pensive air pervading the space. Presently, Spock looked up and summoned Jim over to the science station.

“Preliminary scans of the planets in this system indicate high levels of ultraviolet absorption, Captain. There is a 95.6% certainty that these levels indicate the presence of Traker deposits. With further study, I may be able to ascertain the concentration and distribution of this mineral throughout the planetary system.”

Spock was standing close by Jim’s side, and the comforting familiarity of his solid form beside him made Jim feel calmer than he had in weeks.

“How long will it take to run more in-depth scans?” he asked.

“Several hours, Captain. The Enterprise-A has the latest upgrades to its spectro- and seismographic monitoring equipment, but running a series of ico-grams will still take around seven hours.”

“How imprecise of you, Mr. Spock,” said Jim, the sides of his eyes wrinkled up in amusement. “Around seven hours?”

“Approximately, Captain,” said Spock, his face completely impassive.

“Well, get on it then.”

“Very good, Sir.” Spock looked at Jim for a long moment, and Jim returned with one of his own, a warmth that had nothing to do with the ambient temperature of the bridge colouring his cheeks pink.

Exactly 7.28 hours later, Spock’s scans had returned results, and the senior command staff met in a conference room on deck 2. It afforded an almost panoramic view of the asteroid field and a planet some range beyond, with the shining orb of the system’s star glimmering in the far distance. Jim looked around at his assembled staff; his closest friends and advisors. Strangely comfortingly, the small room was rather full.

Spock had put the results on screen, and various spectrograms were glowing and blinking in the dim light.

“What the hell are we looking at here?” groused McCoy, squinting up at the screen.

“Initial scans returned high ultraviolet radiation absorption levels across all planetary bodies within the system,” Spock explained. “Further study indicated that the cause of these levels was due to Traker deposits below the planetary crust, between various strata ranged throughout the rigid mantle and down into the outer core.” He pointed to an expanded spherical diagram with printed calculations highlighted therein.

“Oy, laddie, don’t say what I think you’re sayin’...” Scotty was shaking his head and sucking a thin whistle of breath through his teeth.

Spock tilted his head and opened his mouth to express his confusion, “Mr. Scott, I don’t understand what--” but McCoy interrupted.

“What do you mean? What is he  _ even _ saying?”

“Let the man finish, Bones,” chided Jim, sitting deep in his chair with a pensive hand on his chin. “Continue, Mr. Spock.”  
“Traker deposits usually indicate to a high degree of certainty the presence of a companion mineral - dilithium. All the planets in this system have extremely high, naturally occurring deposits of dilithium crystals. Additionally, scans indicate that many of these deposits are growing to form perfectly aligned lattices.” Spock called up another exploded diagram that spun in a slow circle on the screen, showing the molecular structure in question.

“As the lattice increases in size, a  piezoelectric effect is created, and there is a direct correlation between the growth of the crystals and tectonic stresses below the planet’s surface. I hypothesize with 99% certainty that the asteroid field we initially encountered are the exploded remnants of a planet overcome by the tectonic strain from  piezoelectricity . This is corroborated by traces of illium-629 found throughout the field.”

“So, what my mother came across is an exceedingly rare phenomenon. A hyper concentration of dilithium across an entire planetary system. As far as we know, this system is unknown to the Federation, but the Oberth didn’t come to this system by chance,” mused Jim.

“Ay, we cannae rule out the fact that this concentration of dilithium crystals would be very lucrative to whoever came across it.” Scotty pointed out.

“Selling it to the highest bidder,” said Sulu, leaning forward in his seat. “It’s a veritable gold mine!”

“Better than,” completed Jim. “Let’s move the Enterprise somewhere safer, just in case someone comes poking around. Remember, we’re not supposed to be anywhere near here. One of these asteroids should be big enough to hide a ship behind.” He then turned to Uhura, who dutifully rose and made her way to the screen at the front of the room. “Lieutenant, you have results from your communications scans.”

“Yes, Captain.” Uhura punched a few buttons on the screen, calling up a recording and a scan. “We have recorded some faint electromagnetic signatures coming from the planet. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly because there’s a lot of background radiation interference, which has obscured our sensors, but it’s coming from approximately these coordinates,” she pulled up a series of numbers.

“A survivor?” asked Scotty, curiously.

“Possibly, perhaps someone from Winona Kirk’s away team may be broadcasting a distress signal. The readings are unclear.” Uhura’s sympathetic face was distressed.

“We have to work under the assumption that there is someone down there.” asserted Jim. Not saying what everyone was thinking, that Winona Kirk may be alive against all odds. “Spock, put together a team and meet me in Transporter Room 3. Sulu, you have the conn.”

Both McCoy and Spock opened their mouths in tandem to protest, but the captain cut them off. “No arguments, now let’s get to it. Dismissed!”

Spock, Lieutenant Di Paola, who was a team lead from Spock’s own alpha project, Lieutenant Hendorff, and two of his security personnel - a human and a Ktarian - met Jim in the transporter room. Scotty was hovering nervously behind the transporter console screen, tapping a staccato with his fingertips.

“It’s gonna be very risky, Captain. I cannae guarantee that I’ll be able to bring ye back from the same location as I let ye off. The electromagnetic interference is extremely widespread.” He wiggled his eye-piece worriedly, “And if I lose sensor lock on ye, it’ll be verra difficult gettin’ ye back.”

“Stop fussing,” said Jim, nonchalantly. “Lieutenant Uhura will be monitoring our frequencies. You can pull us back up the second something goes wrong.” Jim clapped Scotty on the shoulder, “Not that I intend for anything to go wrong.”

“Of course not, Captain,” the Enterprise’s chief engineer dithered, “But Jim...for everyone’s sake...be careful!”

Jim stepped confidently up to the transporter pad, flanked by Spock to his left and Hendorff to his right. They all drew phasers, though Di Paola also gripped at his tricorder instruments strapped over his chest. “Understood, Mr. Scott. Energize.”

The air was stiflingly hot and a strong smell of sulfur assailed their nostrils when they materialized on the surface of the planet. Dusk had fallen, but there were no sounds of animal life or night time insects. The whole planet seemed desolate. Jim indicated for them to explore the area, and Spock and Di Paola had their tricorders out and were doing sweeping scans of the area. As they moved forward at a cautious pace, the ground periodically rumbled beneath their feet.

They progressed toward the coordinates that Uhura had identified, and as they climbed over a low ridge they came upon a wide, roughly circular depression, like a small, shallow valley, that opened up below them. “Spock, what do you make of this?” asked Jim.

“The deformation of the earth looks very regular, Captain. Curious.” Spock held up his tricorder and pressed a few buttons on it.

“Captain!” called Hendorff, signalling from around a large boulder, “We’ve found something!”

The away team scrambled around a skree of fallen boulders and through some dense low brush that pulled at their uniforms. Jim prayed that he wasn’t allergic to the flora, or Bones would really tear him a new one. One of Hendorff’s unlisted men, Robson, was crouched low and had moved some of the brush away. Jim settled down beside him and looked through the space between the plants, his breath catching in his throat.

Ahead of them there was a wide path, flattened by the large wheels of transport vehicles or other substantial machinery that led, inexplicably, to the side of a mountain. All around there was just sparse vegetation, twisted pine-like trees stunted as if by strong gale force winds, and desert-like plants that looked suited to the arid and sulfur choked air. There were outcroppings of jagged cliffside and tumbled boulders, but the whole scene looked somehow wrong, as if it was phase shifted. Then, Jim saw it, a crack in an otherwise almost perfect disguise. There was a sliver that didn’t seem to fit into the rest of the background, and through it came a curious faint glow as if from artificial lights. They had discovered a cloaking shield that was obscuring something like a cave mouth or entrance from which large vehicles could evidently come and go. Evidently, part of the shielding grid was in need of repair.

Suddenly, there was a flash of light and soon after, a loud boom like a crack of thunder split the silence. The ground rolled disconcertingly beneath them a few moments later, and Spock reached out to steady Jim by the arm immediately, despite a tightness around his eyes and a slightly unfocused look.

“Are your ears okay, Spock?” Jim asked, conscious of a Vulcan’s hyper sensitive hearing. “I guess my mother’s report was accurate when she noted that this place was geologically unstable.”

“I am well, Captain, thank you. The eruption was approximately 50 kilometres away. It should not pose any threat to us.” Spock looked up, and noted a reddish tinge suffusing the darkening sky above.

“Look,” said Jim, pointing out an electronic crackle and a wavering of the image before their eyes that drew attention to the sliver, “It looks like their cloaking is being compromised by the geological activity. Come on, let’s check it out.” Jim shook himself free of Spock’s grip, and took point, pushing through the brush and running in a crouch over to an outcropping of rocks close to the cave entrance. The other members of the away team scrambled to follow, Hendorff quietly cursing unruly captains who wouldn’t stay put behind him.

“Do you think this cloaking device is like Jayla’s on Altamid?” Jim asked his first officer, attempting to analyse what he could from his position.

“Uncertain, Captain. This may be superior to Jayla’s technology. I am not familiar with the pattern produced by the malfunction.” Jim continued to study the cloaking with interest. Spock in turn studied his captain’s face with growing concern. 

“Captain, it is likely that we will lose contact with the Enterprise if we enter the complex,” he cautioned, voice low in Jim’s ear as the captain surveyed the crack in the cloaked image for the likeliest point of entry.

“We can’t turn back now that we’re all the way here, Spock. We’ve got to find out more about what’s going on. Where’s your sense of adventure?” Jim’s grin gleamed in the shadows of his face.

“I fail to see how a tendency toward willfully reckless behaviour could in any way aid our reconnaissance,” said Spock, disapprovingly. 

“To boldly go, remember, Spock? It’s our motto.” And then he hopped nimbly over some boulders, sprinted through the wavering slice and disappeared beyond the apparition.

Luckily, they did not encounter anyone as they made their way warily forward into a wide cave like structure, its walls artificially hewn or at least widened and smoothed from whatever natural formation was there originally. If it wasn’t for the rows of cold, white lighting illuminating the tunnels at periodic intervals they found themselves in, and the hum of electricity around them, they might have concluded the facility was abandoned.

They passed by several hollowed out alcoves containing stacks of rectangular containers of varying sizes. Curiosity got the better of Jim, and he approached one, roughly half his height tall and deep, but several meters long. It was locked so Jim pulled out his phaser, flicked the nozzle and aimed it at the securing mechanism. He shot true, and the metal sizzled and melted, releasing the lock. It took both crewmen to lift the lid, and they peered at the contents inside. It was a large weapon with a slight alien design to it, with two parallel rails of metal that housed bundled rows of wire and surrounded an armature close to one end. There was a housing for some sort of powersource, but the chamber was empty. The length of the rails were vented with a series of diagonal fins, and the whole device lay on its side looking like a viper at rest, sleek and deadly.

“Hwee,” whistled Jim, “that looks dangerous.”

“Some sort of rail gun, looks like, I don’t recognize the design at all though,” said Hendorff.

“I wonder if all these crates have weapons in them?” wondered Jim, looking at the rows of containers and then around him at the silence. “Where  _ is _ everyone?”

“It is unusual,” agreed Spock, “however, we should make the most of this situation, to borrow a human turn of phrase, Captain, and explore as far as we can.”

“I like the way you think, Spock,” smiled Jim, his eyes warm as he looked at the Vulcan’s serious expression. “Come on, let’s keep going.”

The gradient of the floor descended steadily downward at a shallow decline, and it became increasingly hotter as well. Soon, everyone but Spock was bathed in a sheen of sweat.

“Captain, there are a series of tertiary tunnels ahead, and I am sensing increased electromagnetic activity from that direction as well.” Spock’s tricorder beeped steadily in the oppressive gloom. Jim nodded and moved silently forward, his first officer close on his heels. The tunnels were split into two sections, and Jim motioned for Hendorff and his men to take the right tunnel as Spock, Di Paola and he took the left.

Soon, Jim’s team came up to a series of featureless metal doors that ran the length of a corridor, hewn from the rock like the rest of the tunnels. Ominous rumbles rolled through the complex, and Jim put his hand to the wall to steady himself. There was a beep, and a lock pad illuminated below his palm.

“Fascinating,” murmured Spock.

Jim wrinkled his brow, and peered closer at the pad and the door, running his hands over the surface. “This looks eerily familiar, don’t you think so, Spock?”

“Agreed, Captain. The electromagnetic readings seem to be concentrated behind this door,” said Spock, consulting his tricorder readings. “No life signs detected.”

“Let’s try something...hopefully it won’t set off any alarms,” and Jim typed a series of numbers into the pad. There was a soft chime, and the door slid open with a pneumatic hiss. “Huh, well that was easy.”

The room beyond was of moderate size, and lined with rows of uniform, rectangular compartments that blinked with arrays of lights. Here and there, there were consoles with lighted buttons and screens displaying rows of scrolling data, though some were dark and dormant. Unlike the oppressive heat of the corridor and tunnels that they had just stepped from, this room was air conditioned and hummed with the sound of furious computing activity.

Spock and Di Paola immediately started scanning the compartments, and presently, the commander turned to his assistant and spoke low in his ear. Di Paola started feverishly pulling out some of his equipment from his pack, which he laid on top of one of the consoles. Jim was more attracted to the slender windows at the far end of the room, which opened onto a view of vast enterprise, and made his way with quick steps to peer out into the scene beyond. “Spock,” he breathed, “I think I’ve found the reason for your regular deformation of the earth up top.”

A wide cavern, its ceiling lost in the gloom, opened out before their eyes. On almost every surface, a profusion of pink, prismatic crystal formations glittered with refracted light from intermittently placed spotlights illuminating the space and the red glow of plasma cutters wielded by workers in baggy, helmeted protective suits. The majority of the crystals were several meters in width and length, and dwarfed the men working around them. Great columns of crystal rose up and out in almost haphazard fashion like the beaming rays of a hundred frozen suns, and grew in gardens of cactus-like clumps. Machinery trundled back and forth in a conveyor, ribboning across the floor of the cave, ferrying the harvested dilithium into divergent subterranean tunnels. It was like being inside a spun sugar fairy confection for a child’s birthday, except it was hot as a level of hell, and twice as dangerous.

Jim looked to his left and spied a door that seemed to lead out into the vast cavern. He moved towards it and punched a code into the keypad. After a few tries, it swished open, sending a blast of heated air into the room. There was a narrow metal platform beyond, and steep stairs more akin to a ladder, corroded and ill-kept, led downwards, snaking around outcroppings of jagged boulders and into the thrown shadows of the mine below.

“Captain!” Spock hissed, an edge almost like panic in his voice, “I strongly advise against entering further into the mine! The high temperatures alone would prove hazardous with prolonged exposure--” but Jim had already stepped out onto the landing and was making his way down the treacherous rungs. Then, as if in answer to the intrusion of the interlopers, the earth around them suddenly gave a deep, bone ratting rumble, and shockwaves rolled through the chamber like a great beast shaking itself awake. Rocks fell from the ceiling and part of the metal stairs gave way, screaming as it detached from its moorings.

Spock cried out in alarm as his captain, startled blue eyes fixed on his first officer, lost his grip on the stairway and tumbled into the gloom below, metal and earth following his fall.

“Jim!!”

Either the noise of the stairway breaking or Spock’s desperate shout had alerted personnel, because in the next moment, phaser fire seared a line past Spock’s ear. He ducked with inhuman speed and rolled back through the doorway, and it snapped shut behind him. 

The planet’s tortured interior roiled again, and Spock looked around determinedly for another way into the cavern and to his captain. Precious seconds were being wasted, but Spock would not allow himself to contemplate the worst, and instead calculated all available possibilities for retrieval and subsequent escape.

Di Paola came up to him hurriedly, his face anxious and sweaty, “What happened, Commander? Where’s the captain?”

“Captain Kirk has fallen into the mine,” replied Spock, tersely. His subordinate’s face had gone pale, but he brooked no expressions of alarm and instead demanded, “Have you finished the downloads?” 

“Yes...well, I have retrieved what I could given the time...there are some data packages that require...” stuttered Di Paola.

“That is sufficient,” he answered curtly. “We need to convene with the others and initiate a rescue. We should be able to find an alternate entrance into the mine while the workers are converging on this area.” Spock pushed past the lieutenant and signalled for him to follow closely behind.

Though their comm signals to the Enterprise were blocked when they had entered the facility, their short range communications to each other thankfully were not. Spock gathered the team, and they hid in an alcove to assess their situation.

“But Sir, how are we going to get down there?” Hendorff’s face was a grim mask when he convened with the Vulcan.

“The layout of this facility appears methodically constructed and is not alien in origin. Subsequent doorways must connect to rooms that have doorways exiting into the main cavern, and the general direction spirals downward to the floor of this mine.”

“How do you mean ‘not alien’, Sir?” asked Di Paola, clutching his phaser like a lifeline. Somewhere in the complex, a wailing alarm had started up. Spock calculated that they had less than 15.25 standard minutes to make their way to Jim and implement an escape route before they encountered significant resistance.

“The captain was able to release the door lock command with a standard Federation override code, often used in construction and military operations.” Spock slowed and followed the curve of the corridor, phaser raised and at the ready. “Furthermore, the design of the doors and keypads, and the server room we were previously in, are all of standard Federation design.”

“It’s all completely unmarked though; there’s no logos on anything!” growled Hendorff, his suspicions raised.

“Exactly, Lieutenant. It  _ is _ curious.” was all Spock was prepared to say on the subject.

After traversing in an arching decline noticeable to the remaining members of the away team, Spock brought them up short outside an identical doorway to the few they had passed so far. A quick reading from his tricorder indicated that there was one individual in the room beyond that they would have to subdue. He nodded to Hendorff, who took up position, his phaser at the ready, and keyed in a code to the glowing lock pad. The door opened and Hendorff barrelled through, shooting at the first thing that moved. The worker, clad in the same protective suit as the ones in the cavern, folded over in mid-turn at the base of the console he had been standing at, his head hitting the floor with a dull thud.

Spock engaged the door lock behind them as Hendorff knelt over the stunned unfortunate to check that he was still breathing. “Lieutenant, I have an idea. Strip the man of his protection suit. I will don the suit and enter the cavern to locate and retrieve the captain.” The Vulcan looked critically at the consoles and viewscreens in the small room, and indicated to a display ranged against the side wall. “This room appears to be a control terminus for monitoring the egress of the harvested dilithium.” He indicated to a diagram of tunnel-like structures radiating from a main cavity, “We should be able to shut down the power grid here, and here, allowing for our escape through the left-most tunnel here, which also appears to lead to the surface.”

He barked short, clear instructions to his team as Hendorff passed him parts of the suit that he had perfunctorily stripped off the limp form of the worker. They would have 2 minutes to shut down the parts of the system indicated which would start the diversion. 4.5 minutes to exit the room and meet Spock and the captain at the rendezvous point on the leeward side of the cavern, away from the activity hopefully drawn in by their diversionary tactics. 3.85 minutes to escape up the tunnel and into the open where the Enterprise was no doubt in active search of their signals for immediate beam up. It would be extremely difficult, as the humans were not as well suited to such adverse conditions in the mine beyond as the Vulcan and the Ktarian security personnel - two hardier species - were, but especially under Captain Kirk’s maverick style of command, they were certainly trained for it.

With that said, Spock keyed open the door at the far end of the room and disappeared into the furnace heat and noise of the cave beyond.

He walked with purpose, angling close to the wall of the cavern, and finding an abandoned clipboard propped up against a display unit grabbed it to lend greater credence to his disguise. Within a couple moments, passing only two personnel hurrying the other way towards the sound of the blaring alarm they had originally set off, he spied the wreckage of the metal stairway and scrambled, unseen, into the darkness beyond.

Vulcan sight being nearly as good as Vulcan hearing, Spock spied gold among the shadows and obscuring rocky outcroppings and dove towards it. He reached Jim’s side - the captain was lying face down, crumpled and limp as a rag doll - and felt immediately at the sweat beaded skin on his neck for a pulse. The carotid artery was fluttering and weak against his fingertips, but still present. Spock laid examining hands on Jim’s body, sliding gently but decisively along limbs, ribs and back to check for broken bones. An arm was twisted at an odd angle, broken, and perhaps some ribs were cracked too, as Jim may have bounced against some unyielding surfaces on his fall downwards. Spock noted in silent distress a large contusion that had blossomed on the captain’s cranium, and the flower of blood that had dripped down his temple and into his shirt.

As easily as picking up a sleeping child, Spock rolled Jim over and grasped him beneath his back and his knees. Rising on powerful legs, he cradled his precious cargo and sprinted for the rendezvous point. Across the cavern, a descending whine of electricity signaled the successful compromise of the power systems. There were some shouts behind in a language that may or may not have been Standard, but Spock doggedly ran on.

He reached the cover of his compatriots as phaser fire sparked and sizzled close by him. The Ktarian security officer answered the bolts with pinpoint accuracy, taking out one of Spock’s pursuers. However, the hapless Robson was not so lucky, and in a volley of enemy fire peppering their poorly concealed location, the man cried out and flash of red fell past Spock’s peripheral vision to lie still on the ground. It was too charitable to think the mine workers would set their weapons to anything like ‘stun’. Di Paola’s face was white as he bent to try and lift the limp body, but Spock ordered him to desist. He could see figures converging on them, and ordered a retreat. “Their numbers and fire power are greater and we will not be able to overpower them in our current predicament.”

“I agree! Quickly, Commander! Before we draw any more attention to ourselves!” commanded Hendorff, leading the way down the darkened tunnel. The ground gave a lurch, and the sounds of an angry planet bounced off the narrow walls. Everyone was sweating profusely and Di Paola seemed short of breath, almost to the verge of hyperventilating, but a subtle change in the temperature of the air on their faces told them that they were headed toward the surface and rescue. Hendorff pulled his comm unit out and shouted desperately into it as they dashed for the exit. “Away team to Enterprise! Come in Enterprise!”

They burst out into the open, an inky black sky streaked with blood red clouds spiralling ominously above them, and didn’t slow down as they ran past the optical pilons that were generating the cloaking field around the complex, at which time Hendorff’s comm crackled into life. “Enterprise, respond!”

“...cotty t...way team! Standby! We’re tryin’ te get a lock on ye!”

There were sounds of pursuit echoing out from the hidden tunnel they had exited moments before, a cacophony of yells and footfalls growing more insistent. “Hurry, Scotty!” yelled the security chief. He fired upon the first figure to emerge from behind the cloak, which immediately gave away their position. The antagonist was felled, but the second one who followed shot right into their midst.

Spock grunted softly, a singularly unremarkable sound, as sparkling bands of golden light swirled around them and the blackness of dematerialization whisked them off the planet.

The transporter room of the Enterprise was the most welcoming sight, though Jim in his unconscious state could neither appreciate it nor the stormcloud smouldering glare of Dr. McCoy, who leapt up to the transporter pad to examine him, still cradled in Spock’s arms. The Vulcan lowered his captain to the pad almost reverentially, and pulled the obscuring helmet off his head.

“Mr. Scott,” he called. “Notify the bridge to get us away from this planet. Use the asteroid field to obscure our path, evasive maneuver delta 8, warp factor 4.”

Scotty leapt into action, conveying the commander’s message to Sulu on the bridge. Seconds later, a familiar micro-lurch of intestines jumping to catch up with the rest of physics signified that Spock’s orders had been followed.

McCoy was cursing and jabbing a hypo into Jim’s clammy neck. He had immobilized his head and had commed for a stretcher and crash cart. Spock looked down, blankly, and noted a trickle of blood crusting around the captain’s ear that had dried, stiff and cakey, into his sideburn. Jim’s face was sheet white, his mouth slack and eyes closed, eyelashes spiky with dirt and grime lying starkly against his cheeks. With a wobble, Spock swayed sideways and sat down heavily on his rump. The doctor looked up, and cursed again. “Ohmygod, Spock! You’ve been shot!” He turned to Hendorff, “Lieutenant, get the commander out of that suit! He’s got a phaser burn on his left shoulder.”

Medical personnel flooded into the transporter room, and the captain’s limp form was transferred perfunctorily onto the floating gurney. Hendorff helped Spock to his feet and handed him to a waiting nurse, who secured Spock’s uninjured arm around his shoulders and helped him from the transporter pad. The Vulcan halted at the doorway and turned to Di Paola, who was looking a bit green but otherwise unscathed. “Lieutenant Di Paola, upload the data to my personal station. I will review it shortly.”

McCoy whipped around from where he’d been fussing over Jim, “you’ll do nothing until I’ve looked at that wound, you green-blooded hobgoblin! Now march!”

*  * *

Cold, flinty eyes silently took in the figures running through the corridors as the security footage ran over the last few minutes in a loop. “Casualty report,” a tall figure demanded, not turning around. The lackey standing close by consulted his PADD.

“Our workers were only stunned. None of them had set their weapons to kill. We do have one of theirs though. Starfleet personnel. Human. He’s in the freezer.”

The figure nodded, slowly. “Get me Admiral Parrl. This is his mess to sort out.”

“Howard is due to arrive at 0430 for the next shipment.”

The man turned around. His long face was battle scarred and he had the manner of a hardened space mercenary, except with slightly higher quality clothing. Tall and sinewy, he loomed menacingly and gripped the pommel of what looked to be a ceremonial sword; a veritable space pirate. He bared his teeth, “Well, get on with it then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter four title is from Shakespeare's The Tempest.
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed the increasing mystery and action that developed through this chapter! Researching to make everything sound plausible (I hope it sounds so) was exhausting, but fun. "Treknology" is difficult because sometimes it defies the laws of physics, and needs to be manipulated so it makes sense...in my head, at least.
> 
> As always, feel free to subscribe for notifications and/or follow my Twitter for more Spirk/Star Trek nonsense (@fauxrugged)


	5. There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy

The room was silent save for the soft, steady beep from the biofunction monitor above the bed; glowing pale green and blue lines scrolled like ticker tape across the screen. There was a single light, turned down to its minimum setting, in a panel beside the bed. It illuminated the sleeping profile of the captain, his strong brow relaxed, lashes shadowy smudges against too pale cheeks, and dirty blond hair parted and swept neatly to the side. Cleaned of sweat and grime, the abrasions he had sustained from his fall stood out on his forehead and jaw in red striated lines. Jim had been installed in a private chamber normally reserved for quarantine or high-profile patients, like said captain currently occupying it.

There was one other figure in the room at the moment. Spock stood like a sentinel at the foot of the biobed, staring intently at Jim’s still form, as if he were trying to solve a particularly complex mathematical equation. The wound in his shoulder had been repaired, the muscle regenerated and the dermis autosutured. Standing in his dark charcoal undershirt, he was a deeper shadow in the gloom.

The door slid open and Dr. McCoy entered. He glanced at Spock, who had not moved from his position or stance. Sighing, he bustled around the XO and moved to the bedside to attach a cortical scanner to the captain’s forehead. Implement in place, he stepped back to monitor the readings on his tricorder. He sucked in his cheeks and shook his head imperceptibly, but Spock took notice at once.

“What have you ascertained from the cortical readings, Doctor?”

“On the surface, the neurological scans are showing within normal parameters. And as you can see, after the surgery he wasn’t intubated as he seems to be breathing under his own power. It’s lucky you got him back to us when you did, Spock.” McCoy adjusted the scanner, brushing Jim’s bangs aside gently. “Any later and...well, let’s just say I don’t have anymore of Khan’s blood to magic the captain alive again.”

He consulted his tricorder again, more out of fidgetiness than to glean any more information from the apparatus. “We relieved the pressure on the brain as fast as we could, but I’m uncertain if it has caused any lasting damage. It’s not unusual for a patient with head trauma to lapse into a coma, but if it goes on for much longer…”

McCoy looked Spock up and down, critically, “Have you been here this whole time after Nurse Dobs sutured you up? You need to go and get some rest, man!”

“I am functioning adequately, Doctor. My injury was not severe enough to compromise me, and as you have not cleared me for duty--” Spock reasoned.

“Damn straight I haven’t! And I won’t until I see that you’ve gotten at least a good eight hours of sleep!”

“Vulcans do not require the same amount of sleep as humans do,” said Spock, stubbornly.

McCoy sighed exasperatedly, “Like hell you don’t, especially since you took a severe phaser blast that went into your shoulder and out the other side! Look, Jim’s not going anywhere, and I’ll be monitoring him personally.” Spock looked unconvinced, and had unconsciously wrapped his fingers into the blankets by Jim’s feet.

The doctor gave him a sympathetic look. “I know you’re worried, Spock, and so am I. But the captain’s a strong, young buck, and he’s bounced back from much worse before.”

“Your attempts at assurances are intended to be comforting. Nevertheless, I would rather--”

“Spock,” McCoy folded his arms, “get out before I kick you out.”

After being unceremoniously ousted from Sickbay by the irascible CMO, Spock made his way back to his quarters to change and meditate. Upon entering his room - decorated with a few esoteric items of Vulcan design and smelling of a warm, woodsy type of incense - he engaged the keylock and requested the ambient temperature be raised to 29 degrees celsius, which was comfortable for his species. Despite being only half-Vulcan, Spock had never indulged in his human side’s appreciation of colder weather, snow and winter activities. Nyota would occasionally say that he was part lizard, and had even brought him a miniature sun lamp early on in their relationship to press her point home. He treasured the gift, using it to warm a small potted cactus given to him by Sulu on one occasion, but did not understand why she would insist he had reptile blood since the knowledge of his biological heritage was quite obvious.

Those and other uncharacteristically wandering thoughts brought him to the bathroom, and he undressed in front of the large mirror over the sink, pulling his long sleeved undershirt over his head. There was a starburst of newly formed skin, bright and with a chartreuse edge, on his right shoulder under the collarbone. He stared at it unemotionally, and then averted his eyes to bend and remove the rest of his clothing. Stepping up to the shower stall, Spock activated the sonic shower, which he turned on by force of habit. After a few moments, however, he hit a button on the unit and heated water sprayed forth from the shower head, raising a plume of steam.

He closed his eyes as the water massaged his neck and back, pelting down like a tropical rainstorm. An image of bright azure, huge, round irises and thick eyebrows raised high against a wrinkled brow, a mouth, so used to smiling and grinning, opened in an ‘o’ of shock, the gleam of the whites of eyes as they slipped over into oblivion, played over and over again behind his eyelids. Spock felt an irrational urge to hit something, to smash his fist through the shower wall, but he quelled the sensation and balled his hands tightly instead, fingernails digging painfully into palms.

This cogitation was singularly meaningless and irrational, he almost scolded himself, and he shook his head as if to clear it. Another irrational action. Spock perfunctorily shampooed and soaped himself, rinsing off quickly and stepping from the shower as if it had offended him somehow. He ran a towel roughly over himself, taking none of the deliberate care he usually did when performing his toilet and scooped his discarded clothes up in his arms, throwing towel and all into the laundry processor chute.

Spock sat cross legged..and naked...on his mediation mat, water droplets missed by his towel drying slowly on his skin in the warmth of the room. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, slowing his heartbeat and stretching his muscles away from the tight bands of fascia in his back and ribs. Calm settled, at least outwardly, and Spock let images and memories from the last twenty-four and more hours flicker past him like some ancient stop motion video.

Jim, standing close to him on the bridge. A feeling of humour and contentment as Jim gave him a sideways glance, his bright blue eyes crinkled at the corners and a dimple forming on his left cheek. Jim’s head, bent towards his, sandy coloured bangs falling over his brow. Jim’s shoulder, brushing against his as they walked unsteadily over rough ground, Jim’s tricep, bunching the textured layers of his gold uniform, tense and solid under his fingertips. The broad sweep of Jim’s shoulders and back, the slender waist, bent and running ahead of him. The choke of his heart in his throat when those blue eyes slid away from him into the darkness. His arms, outstretched but grasping nothing. Heat, rock dust, the cold taste of crystalline shards, the smell of corrosion and plasma, burning energy singeing the air, a limp and heavy body clutched against his chest...

Spock opened his eyes and looked down. He was hard, a pale emerald pillar with the darker fleshy head throbbing, thrumming, against his abdominal muscles and the trail of dark hair, to the cadence of his heartbeat. Almost dreamily, he shifted his right hand from his knee to wrap long fingers around the shaft. Long, dark eyelashes fluttered close against a soft green flush spreading over cheekbones, and he lightly began to stroke himself. A warmth spread up his chest, and the pleasure in his groin felt...correct...as he thought of his friend, his captain, the man he had, unbeknownst to himself, sworn to the depths of his _ katra _ to cherish, protect, and follow to the ends of the universe. His pace quickened slightly, and he squeezed with inexpert but eager fingers.

Wherever Jim Kirk went, Spock _ belonged at his side, as if he had always been there and always will _. This revelation slotted everything into place with a sudden sense of euphoric fulfillment and Spock gasped out loud as he fisted his straining cock, pre-cum lubricating the slide of his fingers up and down, speeding up the pace of his strokes. Never had he been so aroused while alone, with only the company of his thoughts to guide his passionate feelings. He bowed his head, shifting his hips to gain purchase, and feverishly manipulated himself with his right hand while the fingers of his left hand gripped his knee. A few frantic pulls later, he cried out, neck muscles straining, and spurted ribbons of searing hot cum onto his stomach and chest.

With a half-sob, Spock descended slowly from his high and slouched back against the foot of his bed, a trickle of sweat sliding down past his tailbone. His limbs felt heavy, and he was conscious of a knot twisting in his gut as he realized that his captain was the only one who ever made him lose control of himself. A sensation of panic made him slightly dizzy. Nyota had never triggered such a reaction in him.

As if on cue, the door chime sounded, breaking through the perfumed silence of his quarters. Spock looked down at the mess he had made and quickly rose to make his way to the bathroom to clean himself. He left the soiled hand towel on the countertop and struggled into a robe as the chime rang again.

Upon releasing the lock, the door opened to reveal Uhura, standing with a half annoyed, half worried expression on her face. “Finally, Spock. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, Nyota.” Spock stepped aside to let her pass, “I apologise if I kept you waiting for an extended period of time.”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s not a big deal.” She stood on tiptoe, wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her soft lips against his. It took a split second for him to respond.

“Seriously, are you okay?” Uhura broke the kiss and reached over to caress his index and middle finger with hers.

“Nyota…” began Spock, withdrawing his hand gently, and then he paused and shut his mouth, as if uncertain how to continue. She frowned up at him, puzzled by his odd behaviour, but she had had several years of practice in Spock-ness by now, and was adept at how to apply the right amount of patience and pressure in order to draw out the normally reticent Vulcan.

They moved to the couch in Spock’s small sitting area, and Uhura took care not to touch him, instead letting him slowly open up to her. She had made them both cups of tea - jasmine for her and birkeen for him - and sat, sipping it in patient silence. After a while, he said, “I have had an unsettling revelation, and I would be remiss if I did not share it with you.”

“Tell me about it,” she said, softly.

“I believe I have inadvertently formed a connection to the captain.”

“How do you mean?”

“I am...unsure how to express it in terms that a human would understand.” Spock lowered his eyes and took a sip of his tea. “Nyota, you are aware that...Jim and I...we had - have - very different methodologies in the way we approach problem-solving.”

Uhura smiled and said nothing, although her eyes very much said, _ no shit, Sherlock _.

“Our first few interactions were not cordial,” he quirked his head, “Actually, they were outrightly hostile, and I do not recall them with fondness,” he revised.

Uhura had to giggle at his understated interpretation of a frankly explosive period that ended up sucking everyone into the vortex that was Jim Kirk, and had irrevocably changed the course of all of their lives.

“In fact, I admit that I am...ashamed to think that I did not recognize the captain’s tactical brilliance, his intelligence, strength of character and selflessness until…” he looked off into the middle distance, “until it was too late.”

“We didn’t lose him though. We got him back.” She placed a reassuring hand on his knee and squeezed lightly.

“Yes, thanks in part to Dr. McCoy’s expertise and largely to you for stopping me from killing Khan in a fit of uncontrolled rage and revenge,” he looked sheepish.

“Spock, why are you bringing up events that have already resolved themselves? This isn’t like you, worrying unnecessarily about things that have passed.”

“Exactly, Nyota. It is precisely episodes like what happened with Khan, and again when I was unable to tell the captain that I was intending to resign my commission, that I could not bring myself to leave the Enterprise despite my conviction to carry on the Ambassador’s work…” he looked momentarily abashed, recalling that it was that decision that had caused a rift between the two of them. He put his cup down on the low table.

“Those situations are indicative of the fact that I could not...I cannot control myself when it comes to the captain. To Jim.”

“But now you hold the captain in high regard,” it was a statement, not a question.

Spock nodded. “Extremely so.”

Uhura caught his gaze, and gave his knee another reassuring squeeze, “and you are uncomfortable that you feel an affinity towards him despite your better judgement?”

“That is not...accurate. I mentioned earlier that I had formed a connection with the captain. On the bridge after Lieutenant Commander Kirk’s transmission had been discussed, I sensed a sensation akin to _ kash-naf _ that seemed to come from him.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, “But Spock, humans are psi-null.”

“I am unable to explain the reason for the phenomenon at this time. However, it is not the primary problem occupying my thoughts. It is...irrational...that I may be forming a bond to someone with whom I am completely incompatible with, whose manner, personality and _ kashek _ are exactly my opposite.”

“Are you sure, Spock? Are you and Jim _ really _ so incompatible?” She gave him a knowing look, her kind face suffused with a twinkle of humor, as if she was reasoning with a bright but slow child.

“I do not comprehend your meaning,” said the Vulcan, looking a little lost.

“Spock, it seems very much, from a human point of view at least, that you are in love with Jim.” It was such a simple feeling, that singular word, but it hit Spock with all the force of an antimatter explosion. He gaped at her, at a loss for words. 

Over the years of observing her boyfriend’s blossoming relationship with Captain Kirk, from the strength of their antagonism towards each other at the start, to the gradual dawning of mutual admiration and trust the two men placed in each other, it had become very evident to Uhura that the only thing that could distract Spock from his people, his duty, his job and even her, was Kirk. Love and hate were really two sides of the same coin, after all.

Spock found his voice, and uttered in a confused tone, “but...how can that be? Vulcans feel emotions powerfully, but we still apply all the tenants of logic to...” he broke off, and then tried again, “I have you, Nyota, and Jim is my captain. Though I have great respect and admiration for him, I do not believe it should transcend the boundaries of anything other than the close friendship that I admit I feel for him.”

“Do close friends experience kash-naf?” Uhura folded her arms and raised one beautiful, skeptical eyebrow. “Tell me, Spock, why do you love me?”

Spock took a moment to process the turn in the conversation, “I have a deep regard for you. I admire your intelligence and your resourcefulness. In the Academy, you had impressed me with the tenacity and the logic of your arguments...and you are...pleasing to look at and be with.” Though Spock looked uncomfortable with having to speak so bluntly about matters that, to all Vulcans, were held extremely close to the chest, he nevertheless persevered. “I fail to see what this line of questioning will achieve.”

Uhura ignored him, and instead asked, “What would you have done if it was me who had hacked the Kobayashi Maru simulation in order to win it?” 

“That is against the rules of the simulation and not logical. I do not believe you would have attempted such a course of action.”

“But Jim Kirk did.”

“The captain is not above using any and all methods to gain the upper hand in any given situation. He has proven rather explicitly that he does not believe in no-win scenarios.”

“And has this behaviour been beneficial in any way?”

“Though his methods are often extremely unorthodox, they do seem effective.” admitted Spock. He reached for his tea again and seemed momentarily bewildered to find that the cup was already empty.

“Would you have hacked the simulation?” posited Uhura.

“I programmed the simulation, Nyota. Why would I undermine a creation of my own devising?” Spock was confused, and Uhura stared at him seriously, trying to find a way to get through to the Vulcan, to make him understand something so inherently vital - the truth of the nature of love.

“Spock, I’m trying to illustrate to you that as we live life, we encounter many different types of people, ones who may seem at first glance to be totally incompatible to us, but who we will find actually complete us and make us...better versions of ourselves.”

“But Nyota, the potential for future conflict and misunderstanding is exponentially increased by introducing additional individuals into a relationship. I confess I find myself unable to reconcile what I perceive as an unwelcome complication to be...good for me.” countered Spock, dubiously.

The lieutenant let out a small, exasperated sigh, “Do you find Jim Kirk attractive?”

After a long moment, where Spock appeared to be calculating the reaction his answer would illicit, replied slowly, “...Yes, I do find the captain unreasonably alluring.”

There was silence, and then Spock said, “Are you angry, Nyota?”

She laughed then, and instinctively drew him into a tight hug. “Of course not, silly!” Uhura sighed a little wistfully into Spock’s collar, “Okay, I admit that this wasn’t what I was expecting to talk about when I came over tonight. It feels kinda weird convincing my boyfriend that he has feelings for another man, and this definitely complicates matters for the three of us.” She drew back and looked at him. “I’m not going to pretend that I won’t be jealous sometimes, but I am happy that you told me.”

“You believe that I should explore a connection with Jim?” asked Spock.

“Yes. Yes, Spock, I do,” she released his shoulders and gathered his hands in hers, looking deep into his dark brown eyes. “Spock, I am very fulfilled in our relationship. Being with you has been extremely…” her beautiful face radiated love, “I’m crazy about you.

“However, I think most of us actually need different people to complete us, Spock. There are facets of your personality that I will help you to realize, and facets that only Kirk will be able to bring out in you,” she touched his face with tender hands, “and I think I’m okay with that. Will you be?” she asked.

“I...do not know.” he replied.

She nodded then, and folded him into another hug, holding on to him for a long time. When they broke apart, Uhura rose and wiped a tear from her cheek. “Nyota,” Spock caught her hand, his normally sharply angled brow creased into a line, “I have upset you.”

“No, Spock, no,” she sniffed, “you haven’t.” She looked down at him with watery eyes, “But you need to give me time to process all _ my _ feelings. Humans are...emotional creatures.”

“Will you stay in my quarters tonight?” he asked.

She shook her head, but pressed his fingers in her small hands reassuringly, “No, not tonight. Let’s give ourselves some time to get used to this, okay?” She bent and kissed his lips, and kissed a trail up to his cheek. Spock buried his face in her stomach, arms wrapped tight around her slender waist, hanging on like a man cast adrift clinging desperately to a lifeline. “Sometimes...love is not logical,” she whispered into his hair. Spock did not answer.

72.65 hours later, McCoy came onto the bridge half-way through alpha shift like an avenging angel. He didn’t approach the command chair immediately, but paced back and forth vibrating with a kind of manic energy. Spock raised an eyebrow, but did not engage the doctor or inquire why he had come up to the bridge. McCoy caught his gaze and, opportunity given, rounded upon him, “My god, man! How can you be so calm when the captain is still in a coma?! It’s been over four days and he hasn’t so much as twitched!” he raised an accusatory finger, “and for someone who didn’t want to leave in the beginning, I haven’t seen hide nor hair of you in Sickbay all this time! Don’t you even care?!”

“Your assumption is erroneous, Doctor. I was merely following your instructions to ‘get out’ before I was forcibly removed by your good self.” Spock’s eyes were steely and he spoke through gritted teeth.

“Why you...you pointy-eared shard of ice, don’t you dare throw my words back in my teeth! You know I meant for you to get some rest, not to forget all about your captain!” he spat.

“It is extremely improbable that I would experience such a lapse of memory, but your concern is duly noted.” Spock returned coldly. “If you do not have a reason to be on the bridge, Doctor, I suggest that you return to your patients in Sickbay.”

If McCoy’s expression could get any more thunderous, he would have won a lookalike competition for volcanoes. The impending explosion was curtailed by Uhura, however, who put aside her earpiece with an exasperated sigh and turned in her chair. “Spock, just go to Sickbay. Now!”

The Vulcan looked from one human to the other, and around to the rest of the bridge crew who were very pointedly _ not _ looking in his direction. He stood abruptly and pulled the hem of his blue uniform shirt down. “Mr. Sulu, you have the conn.” He swept past the doctor imperiously, and stepped into the turbolift. “Doctor McCoy, I will accompany you to Sickbay.”

McCoy merely rolled his eyes. “Hallelujah,” he muttered.

The sharp disinfectant smell and hum and ping of medical scanners pervaded the dimly lit room; the doctor’s quick step stirred the serene scene that greeted Spock as he stepped to the captain’s bedside. McCoy turned on a bright white procedural LED and directed its pinpoint intensity away towards the bulkhead by the bed, sighing down at the still figure as he did so. Captain Kirk’s handsome face was alternatingly illuminated and shadowed, laid out like some sort of sleeping royalty in an ancient fairytale story, his regular features and comely physique looking for all the world like he was just taking a nap under the pristine hospital coverlet. 

“There _ was _ a reason why I wanted you to come to Sickbay,” began Dr. McCoy, speaking softly so as not to disturb the quiet of the room. “Jim had previously mentioned that he had felt some sort of mind...connection with you.”

Spock raised his eyebrow, his expression guarded, and McCoy continued, “I was hoping that maybe, your presence might ilicite some sort of...response...from him.” He looked at the monitor above Jim’s pillow, “His vitals are all normal, and the abrasions on his face are healing well. He’s breathing on his own, and other than intravenously keeping him hydrated, I don’t have to do anything else to sustain his body. It’s his mind - his brain - he’s just not waking up!” the doctor ran a tired hand through his hair, “Look, Spock, I’m at my wits end. I’m running out of options here, and if your hypothesis from your debrief at this morning’s meeting is correct, there very well may be hostiles coming after us.” He let out a querulous, worried sigh.

“We need the captain lucid, Spock, and I’ll try anything at this point. Vulcan mumbo-jumbo notwithstanding.”

They stared at each other across the captain’s bio bed. Presently, Spock said, “Are you suggesting that I do a mind-meld on the captain, Doctor?”

“Well...it couldn’t hurt, could it?” McCoy shrugged.

“Doctor, without the captain’s explicit consent to a mind-meld, what you are asking is akin to kae'at k'lasa, or a mind rape,” Spock said sombrely.

“Well, what else do you suggest then? I’ve tried playing his favourite music, getting Sulu and Uhura and even Scotty to come up and talk to him...I’ve even yelled in his ear!” he blushed suddenly, “I’ve even, you know…” and gestured vaguely at Jim’s sleeping face.

“No, I do not know,” said Spock, obtusely.

“I’ve even tried kissing him, dammit! Like he was a princess in a goddamn fairytale!”

Spock contrived to look vaguely amused despite himself, but schooled his expression back into one of inscrutable neutrality as he contemplated the sleeping figure. “I suspect that you are going to suggest that I violate the captain’s privacy for the good of the ship, despite any objections I may pose to the contrary.”

“Yeah, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, to quote a particularly stubborn Vulcan.”

“Or to quote a human, it is easier to ask forgiveness than it is to get permission.”

McCoy harrumphed, but looked as if he’d scored a point on some invisible scoreboard. Spock thought of mentioning that he was unaware they had been keeping score, but satisfied himself with a minute nod of his head instead. “I shall require privacy.”

The doctor opened his mouth to protest and then thought wiser of it. “Fine. I’ll give you two some time alone then.”

When Spock was alone with Jim, he looked at the prone figure reclined with fluffed pillows under his head for a long while. Despite the fact that he occasionally mind-melded with individuals in the past, either out of tactical necessity or when indulging his curiosity as with Admiral Pike, who had been bleeding out on the floor of a Starfleet conference room, dying right beside him, Spock had always maintained impenetrable shields when it came to his captain. As a touch telepath, there had been many instances with his tactile and demonstrative CO when he could have easily gleaned surface thoughts or emotions, not that the captain was ever shy about expressing his sentiments in a myriad of ways, but decorum, and also perhaps a fear of unlocking previously unidentified… feelings that Spock wasn’t sure he was comfortable facing even now, kept his vulnerability behind towering mental discipline.

He reached out tentatively, and placed the fingers of his right hand over the psionic points of the left side of Jim’s face, closing his eyes as he did so.

Like submerging slowly into warm syrup, Spock became conscious of a scene unfolding before him. The air was filled with the buzz of bees, the chirruping of insect wings, and the scents of a golden autumn, warm and sweetly fecund. Oak trees hung their black limbs, heavy with bright yellow leaves, over a slow moving river, which reflected the frost-tinted sky on its glassy surface. All around, loamy steam from a thick bed of sun-warmed soil and dead vegetation curled up through the undergrowth, combining with the mist rising off the river and crystalizing in the thin, early morning light.

This was Jim’s mindscape, his safe haven, a place where he felt secure and protected. Spock suspected it was some image or time emblazoned into his very being from early childhood. The captain had not divulged much about his past with Spock, but disjointed pieces gleaned from a careful observance of conversations between Dr. McCoy and Jim hinted at a few safe years before adolescence had thrust him into some sort of life that, Spock suspected, had a lot to do with Jim’s underlying current of anger and desperation. A deeply ingrained defense mechanism which manifested itself in foolhardy bravado and major acts of heroism. Spock suspected that Jim’s past may have contained similar struggles to his own, and the resemblance resonated within him with gratifying similitude.

Crisp leaves crunched as Spock walked parallel to the curve of the lazy river moving from one copse of trees to another that lined the bank. In the distance around a bend he spied beyond the trees, Spock’s superior hearing distinguished a faint silvery swish of a thin, whip-like object whistling through the air. A second later, there was a watery plop, as if something had broken the surface of the water. Spock began to hasten his pace, but almost immediately he felt a resistance against his legs. He looked down, but there didn’t seem to be any obstruction. The leaves were just as they had been, dried and curled like a thick carpet on the forest floor. He looked up as the sound he had heard before came again, and even though he had not ceased walking, the bend seemed to carry on ahead of him as if he had not moved at all.

Spock closed his eyes, falling into a shallow meditation, willing himself still. Slowly, the resistance ebbed, and, one deliberate step at a time, he moved forward cautiously. This was Jim’s unconscious trying to protect him, thought Spock. He had to endeavor to be as unthreatening as possible. After an indeterminate amount of time walking, always with the river to his right, he emerged through the undergrowth, boots sinking slightly into sandy gravel and scritching underfoot. There on the wide riverbank was a golden haired boy holding a long, thin pole to which was attached a translucent line that disappeared into the water. He was tweaking it occasionally, making the filament tremble and undulate. As Spock watched, the boy reeled the line in, and without looking around, drew the slender rod back at a diagonal over his head and whipped it forward. A fine length like spider silk flew out into the thin morning air. Spock could see that there was a small glittering object at the end of it, and followed its snaking gossamer arc until it disappeared into the water with a tiny splash. He stepped forward and a twig snapped, inadvertently, under his foot. The boy turned around, pellucid blue eyes luminous in a summer warmed cherubic face, his tousled curls glowing like a halo against the sunlight.

“Hello, Spock.” said the boy; his voice was like a flute, childish and unbroken.

“Hello, Jim.” the Vulcan replied, awestruck.

It was rare for personalities in a mindscape to manifest with such solidity. Mostly, the owner of the mind was just a suggestion in the air, like an omniscient presence, and the beings that peopled a person’s life were mere ghost images. The young boy staring at Spock with interested eyes was a testament to the unique brilliance of a mind like Jim Kirk’s.

“It took you awhile to get here. Did you get lost?” Spock could not find the answer, but the boy was already rambling on, “Would you like to do some fishing? I’ve got a spare rod around somewhere.” the boy put his own down, balancing it between two large rocks, and moved to grab a spare fishing rod that Spock had not noticed until now.

“Wait, Jim. I do not know how to fish.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll teach you.” the child Jim beamed up at him, a row of shiny white baby teeth flashing, “it’s easy.” Spock took the proffered rod. It was slender and delicate in his hands, but surprisingly solid nonetheless. 

The youth demonstrated the technique, flicking the rod with its iridescent line back and then casting it into the water. Spock mimicked it with ease after a few tries. “I always knew you were a fast learner,” Jim teased.

They stood side by side, fishing, and the bees buzzed while in the bushes by the riverside, a thrush started to sing.

“Jim,” said Spock, breaking the peacefulness, “why are you here?”

“I like it here,” Jim replied, in a high, clear voice. “There’s apples in the orchard that are ripe now, over there, to the west of the river. Also, the fishing is good, and there’s no one around to bother me or tell me what to do.”

“My presence is here, is that bothersome to you?” asked Spock.

“You don’t bother me.” Jim smiled shyly, eyes fixed on his line. “I like you.”

“I...like you too,” admitted Spock. “Jim, there are others who like you as well. Dr. McCoy, and Mr. Sulu, Mr. Scott, Chekov, and Nyota.”

“That’s nice,” the boy shrugged, a gesture that Spock was very familiar with from the adult version of this young Adonis. “But there’s no fishing, or camping or anything fun where they are.”

“You have a beautiful ship. The Enterprise. It can travel to many worlds where there are many fun things to do.” reasoned Spock.

Jim seemed to consider this, but then he shook his head. “I like it here, best. Besides, it’s safe here. Nothing can hurt me.” He looked up at Spock companionably, “I’m glad you’re here with me, Spock. You’ll be safe here too.” 

“I cannot stay here, Jim,” said the Vulcan, a little wistfully.

“Sure you can! There’s so many fun things for us to do together here. Come on, I’ll show you where there’s a walnut tree, and we can grab a whole bunch! They make your hands go purple!” Jim reeled in his line quickly and bent to prop his rod by the rocks on the shore. Spock reached out and stilled the boy with his free hand on Jim’s slender shoulder. It was slight and thin, and the boy was shivering a little under his fingertips, as if Spock had placed his hand on a fawn’s trembling flank. “Jim, I am unable to stay, and I need you to come with me, please.”

Jim’s smooth brow wrinkled and he looked down, “But I don’t want to leave. I remember I got hurt out there...many times...I got hurt,” he whispered. “I don’t want you to leave either…I want you to stay with me, so you don’t get hurt.” His young voice had trailed off and Spock had to strain to catch the words.

The Vulcan tried again, dimly aware that time was passing urgently beyond this idyllic world. “I will protect you, and I am waiting for you out there. Will you return to me?”

“But...it’s safe here...and I couldn’t bear it if you got hurt,” Jim looked up at him, his angelic face clouded, “If you somehow got hurt because of me, especially.” He grasped the hand that was on his shoulder, and squeezed Spock’s fingers tightly. “You’re here, though. I can feel you!”

“No, Jim, I am not. I am in your mind, but my body is...outside.”

“But why you can’t stay anyway? I thought we were friends!” the boy grew agitated and in the distance, there was a rumble of thunder. The scene had changed; clouds had covered the sun, and the dusty smell of ice was carried on the chill of the breeze that had picked up suddenly.

“I _ am _ your friend, but no, unfortunately not, I cannot stay.”

“You say ‘no’, a lot,” Jim’s young voice was petulant.

“I am sorry,” said Spock, and he unexpectedly felt the sting of tears warm behind his eyes. “I will make it up to you if you will come with me, please?” He tightened his hold on Jim’s shoulder as reassuringly as he could, and put down his fishing rod to reach out his other hand, palm up. “Please, Jim.”

“Promise?” asked Jim, querulously.

“I promise.”

The boy’s slender form seemed so fragile and small, his golden locks ruffled by the slight wind as the Vulcan looked down at him. Overhead, the sky was streaked with grey and dirty white, but the distant thunder had stopped. Jim continued to balk, chewing on one pink lip. They stood like statues by the river, at an impasse, neither one speaking, both lost in their own thoughts. Then, Jim licked his lips and looked back up at Spock. As he did so, he placed his thin, cold hand in the Vulcan’s larger one. Spock smiled and squeezed it tightly.

There was a sensation of moving backwards at speed, as if his body was being tugged upwards and out of some great ocean and into the sky. He grasped both of Jim’s hands in his own and pulled the youth after him. The riverside with its autumnal trees and buzzing insects dissolved into a swirling cloud of liquid gold, and coalesced like glittering ice into the cold, clinical planes of the medical room.

“Spock…” Jim breathed, slowly opening his eyes halfway, cerulean orbs shaded behind a curtain of thick burnished lashes, “You saved my life, again.”

“No Jim. I merely showed you the way.” He gently removed his fingers, but lingered, his face in close proximity to his captain’s.

“You say ‘no’, a lot,” Jim rejoined, a small yawn escaping his lips.

And then Spock bent down, and swallowed the yawn with his mouth.

It was a sensation like coming home after a long and protracted time away, where soothing, recognizable smells envelop upon the first opening of the door, and the promise of a familiar bed, familiar food, and all the comforts of knowing everything in its proper place ease a weary traveler. Jim felt an enormous weight, from weeks, no, months of unconscious tension lift from his shoulders, and he sighed up into Spock’s mouth.

Warm, dry fingers returned to his face and cradled his cheek tenderly. He was held like a precious object in tentative hands at first, and Jim lifted his arms, heavy and wooden from days of immobility and trembling slightly with effort, to rest on his friend’s shoulders.

Spock moved his lips gently, sliding them along the other man’s, feeling the peak of the cupid’s bow and the chapped lower lip, rough pieces of dry skin overlaid petal softness underneath and he moistened them with tiny pecks from left to right. He breathed in through his nose and hummed low in his throat when he felt answering pressure and Jim parting his lips to fit more perfectly against his.

They alternated exploring and being explored, Spock’s hot tongue slipping out to taste the velvet skin on the inside of Jim’s upper lip, causing Jim to gasp. They were tentative at first and grew steadily more eager, though after a few moments, Spock was forced to break the kiss and apply restraining pressure to Jim’s head as the captain attempted to rise more fully off the pillows.

“Jim, please be careful, you are still an invalid,” cautioned Spock.

“That’s a terrible word,” murmured the other man, “I don’t feel like an invalid.”

“I assure you, you were in a catatonic state for 96.23 hours, and your brainwave patterns and heartbeat are currently elevated.”

“I think it’s supposed to be that way,” said Jim, and with unexpected strength clasped Spock’s broad shoulders and hauled himself to a half-seated position, gluing his mouth back to the Vulcan’s with sheer force of will. He attacked with a heated tongue insistent against Spock’s teeth, and the beleaguered XO could do nothing but open up fully and equally as enthusiastically, his strong arms snaking around his captain’s back to clasp him closer. 

A beeping above Jim’s biobed became more insistent, and suddenly the automatic door at the front of the room slid open.

“Saints and angels preserve us!” McCoy surveyed the scene before him and stepped quickly through the door so it closed behind him, tricorder raised, “I told you to wake him up, Spock, not molest him!”

Spock released Jim promptly but gently, taking a step back from the bed and straightening his uniform. A wash of light emerald painted his cheeks, and his lips were dark and wet, but he stood nonchalantly by the bedside as if he hadn’t just had his tongue down the other man’s throat.

“Bones!” Jim folded his hands behind his head and looked for all the world like the cat that had gotten into the universe’s largest bowl of cream.

“Don’t you ‘Bones’ me, you overgrown infant,” the doctor growled, bustling up to the biobed and pressing a scanner loop cursorily to Jim’s temple, but there was obvious relief in his hazel eyes as he glanced at Spock in a silent _ thank you _. He took some readings, prodded Jim with various apparatus, examined his pupils and tested his nerves and reflexes, to which the captain remained surprisingly docile throughout, and clicked his tongue and shook his head the whole time. The other two knew that it was largely an act and Jim tolerated it as a sort of peace offering to his oldest friend.

“Well, how am I?” asked Jim impatiently after a while

“How do you think?!” McCoy shot back, “you’ve been comatose for over four days after a serious fall from a height. It’s a miracle your brain didn’t swell up more than it did! Luckily, we were able to quickly reestablish blood flow and oxygen to that pretty little head of yours...thanks largely in part to your guardian angel over there,” he thrust his chin in Spock’s direction, “and no thanks at all to you, you foolhardy S.O.B!”

Jim laughed weakly, “I love you too, Bones.”

McCoy consulted the monitor above the bed, “Now that you’re awake, I will want to continue keeping you under observation for--”

Jim groaned, “Aw, come on, Bones, I’ve woken up, I’m all good--”

“Don’t! Just, don’t, Jim!” McCoy rounded angrily on his friend, his voice cracking a little, “do you know how worried--”

Spock cleared his throat, “If I may interject, Doctor, while I do agree that the captain requires a further period of convalescence, we have a very urgent matter to discuss now he has regained consciousness.”

McCoy opened his mouth for another tirade, but decided it would keep, and instead nodded curtly. “As much as I hate to agree with the hobgoblin, Jim, there’s been some real disturbing developments while you were off playing Sleeping Beauty.”

“Captain,” began Spock, gravely, “Lieutenant Di Paola and I had managed to download communications, schematics and transport cargo files during our time in the mine. I have done some preliminary analysis of the data, and it is my hypothesis that it does not appear to be a rogue operation, despite our first assessment. Furthermore, I can corroborate that your suspicions regarding the technology, design and layout used in the facility are correct. They appear to be standard Federation design. It is logical to assume that the technology has either been stolen, or an element of the Federation has a hand in this mining operation.”

“I’m sorry the signals Uhura picked up weren’t from a distress beacon, Jim,” McCoy stood at the head of the biobed, his arms crossed over his chest and his brow furrowed.

Jim gave his friend a weak smile, “It’s okay, Bones.” he said, quietly.

Spock continued, “Lieutenant Hendorff and his team discovered a weapons testing area adjacent to what we surmise is a series of laboratories. From his descriptions, it seems the facility is also testing weaponry of Romulan design.”

Jim’s brow darkened as he heard the name. “It makes sense that there may be Romulan involvement since we’re so close to their territory.”

“I am currently unable to ascertain the exact level of Romulan involvement, but Lieutenant Di Paola is currently decrypting several of the data packages we downloaded. We may learn more soon.”

“You’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest now, kid,” said McCoy, shaking his head.

“And what happened after I...fell, Spock?” asked Jim, ignoring the doctor.

“Your fall unfortunately brought attention to us, and we lost Crewman Robson to phaser fire. We were unable to return to retrieve the body.”

The captain sighed, the weight of any crew member’s death lay heavily on his shoulders, and it angered him to the core. “What else?”

“Due to the similarity of the mine layout to regular Federation design, I was able to decipher the approximate location of your fall. I commandeered a mining suit as a disguise and retrieved you while Lieutenant Hendorff and the others created a diversion which aided in our escape.”

“Were we followed?”

“We managed to escape the mine and contact the Enterprise upon reaching the surface. When we beamed aboard, I ordered a course of evasive action through the asteroid field to obfuscate our location. However, Crewman Robson’s body being in their possession, and the tracking of our energy signature may lead them to successfully trace us.”

“And what he’s _ not _ saying,” McCoy cut in, “is that he was also shot while hauling your ass off that planet!”

“It is of little import, Doctor,” said Spock, displeased, “It was minor and your skills were adequate enough to treat it.” 

“Why do I feel like I’m being insulted here?” McCoy glared across the bed at the Vulcan.

“Okay, okay, enough!” Jim raised an arm, cutting off the inevitable quarrel between his closest friends. “What are your recommendations, Mr. Spock? I think it’s fairly certain whoever it is is not going to let us go since we’ve stumbled upon their operations; how long do we have before they catch up with us?”

“It is only a matter of time, Captain. I would recommend we attempt to investigate further. If we can ascertain for certain the identity of our pursuers, we will be better able to launch a counter offensive.”

Jim nodded, slowly, suddenly feeling a wave of weakness overtake him. His hands fell limp at his sides and he closed his eyes momentarily before forcing them open again. It did not go unnoticed, and McCoy hurriedly looked at the readings, frowning, “You need to rest, Jim, your aldosterone levels are high and your heart rate is also elevated.”

“But, we need to--” he huffed in frustration.

“A few more hours of rest would be advisable, Jim. I will see you again soon,” Spock said tenderly, and reached out to clasp his shoulder. McCoy raised an eyebrow, but remained silent.

Spock left Sickbay and went to find Lieutenant Di Paola, who was in Science Lab 2, feverishly combing through the data they had gleaned from the mine, head bent over a PADD and the fingers of one hand operating a free-standing console. He looked up when Spock entered and launched immediately into his findings.

“Commander, I’ve found something interesting in several of their logs,” he said, with low key excitement in his voice. 

“Report, Lieutenant.”

“See here for the latest transmissions...it seems they’ve been doing some research into the mesophasic properties of dilithium, specifically, measuring ionic conduction levels and the thermodynamic output of these chemical formulations, here and here.” He flicked a series of formulas from his PADD onto the monitor in front of them, and Spock looked at them with interest.

“Now, take a look at these phase diagrams,” he said with a low whistle, bringing up some three dimensional cartesian graphs onto the screen, which rotated slowly in place. “Observe when I input this formula here, for instance, what happens to the coordinate points as they intersect the axis here, and over here. Notice how the phase boundaries have been repositioned.” The diagram morphed and shifted like a wavering mirage, the lines of its various facets undulating before their eyes.

“Fascinating,” said Spock.

“There’s also what I believe to be a schematics package. I’m running it through the decoder right now, but their encryption is multi-phasic so it will take some time.” Then, he pulled up some data on his PADD and handed the device to his commanding officer.

“Look at these communications, Commander.”

Spock scanned the list of files and then activated one. It was encoded using a method clearly of Federation design, but the script enclosed within, when opened, were runic-like symbols that ran in horizontal rows of various lengths, their blocky forms alternately curved and spiked.

“Romulan” murmured Spock, his angled brow furrowed and his dark brown eyes unreadable.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” agreed Di Paola, smirking.

It was partly Spock’s insistence that the captain would be more comfortable in his quarters, which would logically aid healing, but mostly Jim’s wide blue-eyed puppy dog stare that grated on McCoy’s nerves so much that he finally relented and discharged his CO four hours later, when the Vulcan returned to Sickbay.

Jim tried not to lean too heavily on Spock as they made their way to the corridor where their quarters were located, but his body was weaker than he would care to admit, and he was letting Spock basically half carry him. McCoy had released him in the middle of gamma shift, when there would only be a skeleton crew and the hallways would be mostly empty. Nevertheless, crew members they did encounter murmured their congratulations on his recovery, their eyes warm with relief. The captain nodded his thanks, but kept his arm firmly around Spock. Spock, for his part, seemed loath to let go an inch.

They arrived at the captain’s door, and Spock keyed in the door code. “When did I tell you my door code, Spock?” inquired Jim.

Spock flushed very slightly and replied, “You did not, Captain, but I made it my business to find out.”

“Did you hack my door, Spock?” there was laughter in Jim’s voice.

“Only as a method of last resort, Sir.” The door slid open and Spock helped Jim inside, letting go of him only when they came to rest at the foot of the bed. He bent gracefully and unzipped the captain’s boots, lifting his legs and removing them, first the right, then the left, and stored them neatly to the side. Jim raised his eyebrows in surprise when Spock unexpectedly moved to remove his own boots, arranging them beside Jim’s. He shifted back to stand in front of his captain, who reached out and gripped a handful of blue shirt in his fist. He looked up at the tall, stoic form, and tugged insistently. Spock responded, stepping into Jim’s personal space; his hands lifted to cradle his head, elegant fingers carding into the short hairs at his nape, and he descended hungrily onto upturned lips.

They kissed as if they were each other’s last meal, or perhaps their first. They breathed in the scent of one another, teeth grazing tender flesh, tongues entwining, exploring textures and tastes, curling around hollows of cheeks and stroking the slick softness they found within each other. Their faces pressed as close as they could together, Spock’s black hair falling onto Jim’s face and mingling with his dark blond locks.

Spock wanted to kiss the sides of Jim’s smile, the commissure that dimpled deeply upwards and made his spine fizz when the captain grinned, or smirked, or pursed his lips. He wanted to flick his tongue over the pronounced cupid’s bow of the upper vermillion and into the pronounced dip between the philtrum ridges. He wanted to feel the plush labium inferius oris between his teeth, wanted to nip and bite until it swelled with arousal and turned that bright, crimson colour of human blood that rose just beneath the thin layers of epidermis. He wanted to devour, to sate himself on something that he had not even realized he had deprived himself of. The tension held in his shoulders slowly unwound, and for the first time in recent memory, Spock let himself indulge in the euphoria of finally touching Jim as he had longed to do.

Jim fell headlong into sensation, and fought back fatigue and days of immobility, willing his muscles to move, to clench and to hold on tightly to Spock, his lifeline, he irrevocably acknowledged; the other half of his soul. He had never felt this way about anyone, not from his first time - shoved down deep in the shameful recesses of his consciousness - or the countless subsequent times, with countless beings on countless worlds. At the back of his mind he laughed at his starry-eyed reaction, his hero worship of this man who for all intents and purposes had appeared to be his complete opposite. But they were just two sides of the same coin, weren’t they, and Jim kissed back fervently with all the energy, attraction and gratitude he could muster. He leaned back on the bed and pulled Spock after him, their lips still joined.

The Vulcan removed one hand from the nape of Jim’s neck to wrap an arm around his back. With a knee braced against the mattress, he lifted Jim as easily as a child, moving him further up the bed and depositing him among pillows, pressing his body full length against him. Spock’s lithe, muscled form fitted against the hollows and curves of Jim’s own athletic body as if they were two parts of one whole; the hard, masculine planes above contrasting deliciously against the yielding softness of the duvet and bedclothes under his back.

With mounting arousal, they broke apart briefly to fumble with uniform shirts and undershirts, grasping and pulling the fabric up over chests and shoulders, over heads, tousling hair already standing on end from eager fingers combing through the thick strands. Jim’s breath caught in his throat as he took in the gorgeous figure, blushing in tandem, seated before him. His hands drifted over pale, marble smooth alien skin and settled in the delicious rug of dark hair dusting Spock’s sculpted pecs. Jim wanted to feel every inch of that heated skin, burning hotter than human bodies did, and moved to dig the pads of his fingertips along his friend’s ribs, feeling up along lats and deltoids as they shifted beneath his hands.

Spock trailed a line of burning kisses from one side of Jim’s mouth to the other, flicking a tongue into the corner - which made the man groan and reach a desperate hand out to caress the side of the Vulcan’s head and his elegantly pointed ear - and moved up Jim’s jaw, sucking and biting the soft skin at the join of skin beneath his ear, and then down his carotid artery to bite again at his clavicle, and down further still to the smooth sweep of his chest, capturing a hardened cherry pip of a nipple in-between his teeth and sweeping his tongue over it. Jim bucked against him, crying out, which elicited an eyebrow raise from Spock, who filed away a list of the captain’s erogenous zones, one by one, as he discovered them.

They clung to each other in the dim coolness of the room; the only sounds were the rustle of fabric, the slide of palms traveling along heated skin, and the quickened breath and stuttered inhalations of increasing excitation. Jim threw a leg over Spock’s and fitted his groin into the dip of his inner thigh. He gasped as his erection, hard and hot in his uniform pants, met Spock’s own ardent, answering heat. He pressed up against it automatically, searching for greater contact, and keened in almost palpable disappointment when Spock, through great presence of mind, placed both hands on Jim’s hips and held him down on the bed.

“Captain...Jim,” he lifted his head from where he had been leaving reddened welts on Jim’s neck and collarbone, “we must not. You are still not well enough.”

“Give me a break, Spock,” the captain’s head thumped exasperatedly into the pillow, “of all times, you’re cockblocking me now?!”

“That is not my intention. Your well-being is of paramount importance to me.” Spock looked at Jim with limpid eyes, “However, I fear that engaging in--”

“Wait, is this about Uhura?” Jim interrupted, suddenly filled with chagrin, “Oh my god. I’m so sorry, I just...we just went for it and I didn’t even think--”

“You misunderstand. It was Nyota who made me realize my true feelings for you, Jim.”

“Wait, what? Really? She did?” Jim was nonplussed, but a blush of surprised gratification suffused his cheeks.

“Nyota is a woman of keen understanding and great emotional intelligence.” Spock answered simply, propping himself up on his arms to look the captain squarely in the face.

Jim smiled, “That she is,” he looked fondly up at his first officer and lifted a hand to brush fingers through fine, silken strands. “Well, Spock, now that we’ve officially been given permission by your girlfriend, and I don’t have to worry that she’s going to put me back into a coma...there’s a pressing matter to attend to.” He shifted under Spock, angling his hips so his erection pressed hard against the Vulcan’s own.

“Affirmative, Captain, however, I do not recommend coitus at this point in time as you are still recovering,” reiterated Spock, seriously.

“Oh my god, Spock, do you talk this way _ all _ the time? How does Uhura deal with your bedroom voice?” Jim was only half-joking, but laughed at Spock’s reply.

“I do not understand to what you are referring, Jim,” he replied, and reached between them to unfasten and pull Jim’s pants and briefs down and off in a few deft movements. Jim gasped in surprise, painfully aroused, and arched his back involuntarily as Spock slid down his body, leaving a blazing imprint of heated breath over skin flushed pink, the Vulcan’s soft lips ghosting across his taut stomach with its trail of sandy curls and settling into his groin. Spock breathed in deeply the scent of his friend - warm, alluring, and sweetly musky. Jim’s hands scrabbled in Spock’s hair as he felt him nuzzling his pubic mound, and burying his face in the damp curls he found there. His muscles trembled with fatigue and arousal, and he groaned in frustration as Spock kissed and mouthed all around, from the crease of his inner thigh, over his balls, pulling gently at the pliant skin with his lips, and progressing lower, flicking out his tongue to caress his perineum.

“God, why are you such a cocktease?” moaned Jim, “You’re doing this…” and he panted as Spock finally licked his way up the length of Jim’s cock and settled his mouth fully over the head, sucking and laving the frenulum with a flattened tongue, “...on purpose...oh, god, Spock!”

If there was any question regarding Spock’s inexperience with bedding another man, all doubt fled as Jim figured the Vulcan was either an extremely quick study or just naturally talented. He crouched over Jim, one hand splayed against his inner thigh, spreading him open, and the other wrapped in a firm but gentle grip around his shaft, which started to move the foreskin rhythmically up and down. Spock’s mouth and tongue were doing obscene things to his glans, teasing, dipping into his slit, the backs of his teeth rubbing lightly over the curve of the head, the whole length coated in saliva and becoming increasingly more slick as Spock quickened his pace and took him in deeper.

Soon, Jim felt like he was floating a foot off the bed, as if the only thing keeping him from floating up to the ceiling were Spock’s fervent motions, suckling him, sliding his cock in and out of his mouth, and a vague sensation of vertigo made the room tilt. A warmth suffused him from head to toe, and a feeling of a familiar presence nudged at his mind. Instinctively, he perceived that some sort of telepathic transference was happening between him and Spock, and that profound realization coupled with Spock’s hot hands working with increasing speed on him and his searing mouth engulfing him, creating such delicious suction, quickly tipped Jim over the edge. “Aaah!” he cried out, screwing his eyes shut, hands fisting the sheets. His scrotum tightened and he was crying out incoherently, shooting deep into Spock’ throat, his legs trembling with exertion even as he jerked up into that sinful mouth with each wave of orgasmic pleasure. 

Spock did not remove his lips from Jim’s throbbing, spent penis until he had sunk, boneless and breathless, into the mattress. Then he crawled up to lie alongside, uniform pants dragging against naked skin, his own erection still very much insistent and warm against the other man’s thigh.

“You need--” croaked Jim, his throat hoarse from the shouts Spock had just elicited from him, and moved a shaky hand to try and palm the erection through Spock’s pants. But the Vulcan caught his hand and entwined long fingers in his, effectively arresting his movements.

“No, Jim. I do not need release at this time.”

“But--” protested Jim, weakly.

“I want you to rest, now.” murmured Spock, against his hair.

Jim’s eyelids felt incomprehensibly heavy, and they slid shut even as he struggled against a sudden, bone deep weariness. Stubbornly, he fought against the sensation, “You’re doing something to me...aren’t you...Spock,” he said. “You’re making me feel…”

“Sleep, ashayam,” whispered the Vulcan, kissing his forehead, and Jim sighed, finally letting go and surrendering to a blissful, dreamless oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter five title is from Shakespeare's Hamlet.
> 
> In this chapter I wanted to explore reactions, interactions and how our experiences shape us. Kirk's "safe place" was a mental recreation of a time before he could articulate pain and grief. In many ways, I believe there is a small, shivering child inside the adult of all of us that needs - longs to be - protected and kept from harm. Also, in terms of polyamory and romance, I wanted Uhura to embody the best we can be. A sensible, feeling, emotionally mature person who recognises that for most of us, we need more than one person or personality to bring out our potential and truly make us whole. It is so important for me to try and break down the, frankly in my opinion, toxic relationships that most of us take as normal. Serial monogamy irritates me for some reason, and I do not believe possessiveness and jealousy signify true love. Finally, thanks for your patience, everyone, we finally achieved a bona fide K/S sex scene!
> 
> Vulcan translations taken from the Vulcan Language Dictionary:  
(In the order they appear in the story)  
katra = soul  
kash-naf = mind-link  
kashek = mind  
kae'at k'lasa = mind rape  
ashayam = beloved


	6. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more

On the unnamed planet, three days earlier, a viewscreen in an unremarkable room that served as an office flickered into life and revealed a man’s pale face. His eyes were the colour of dark bronze and his carefully coiffed hair was more salt than pepper. He was dressed in a uniform akin to a Starfleet admiral’s, except that it was pitch black, and he affected an air of fastidiousness that was possibly prone to violent outbursts. His thin lips were turned up at the corners, but he was not smiling.

“What is this about, tr’Chelok?” his voice was sharp, like a violin bow drawn across strings too quickly.

“You’re lax about answering your calls,” came the complaint. The fastidious man’s lip curled at the corner, revealing a glimmer of teeth.

“I am not beholden to your summons. Now, what do you want?”

“We’ve had some little rats snooping around,” came the reply.

“What sort of rats?”

“Starfleet,” came the curt answer.

If it was possible, the pale man’s eyes became even more flinty, but no other expression passed over the stone-faced countenance. The two men continued to size each other up, and it was tr’Chelok who backed down after a long moment, “We have one of them...in the freezer. I’m holding you responsible, Admiral. Starfleet interference was _ not _ part of our agreement.”

Admiral Parrl appeared to give this some thought. “Where is Howard? According to our schedule, he is due to receive the next shipment for testing soon.”

tr’Chelok turned to his assistant, who said, “He is on schedule for 0430, as always.” 

“One of my agents will come and collect the body,” said Parrl. “Do not tell Howard any of this. I will deal with it personally.”

“As to be expected,” said tr’Chelok, coldly, “but how can we guarantee that there won’t be anymore ‘Starfleet’,” he spat as he said the word, as if the taste of it disgusted him, “where they shouldn’t be?”

“We guarantee nothing. This incident was obviously your oversight. You had assured us that your security systems were foolproof and unbreachable.”

tr’Chelok did not like this pointed out to him, and his strong, angled brow with its pronounced ridges creased further in anger, “Do not tell us how to do our jobs, and we will not tell you how to do yours,” he growled back.

“Precisely,” snapped Parrl, his voice strident. “I trust you’ll remember yourself next time. Parrl out.” The viewscreen flickered once more and went blank.

The Romulan glared at the screen as if willing it to catch fire, and then turned to loom over his shorter assistant. “That coward may believe he has the answers to everything, but I will not let a few stray vermin undermine our entire operation. I will lead the hunt. Assemble the warbirds.”

“Very good, ei-Vek tr’Chelok,” answered his assistant, with a bow.

* * *

An incessant and annoying buzzing slowly pulled Jim out of his stupor. He blinked, and as the film cleared from his vision, he realized it was the background noise of the Enterprise - her sotto voce hum and the silken vibration of her propulsion system - that he was hearing. The room was cool, and the next thing Jim realized was that someone had tucked the covers around him, and that he was alone.

Wow, Jim mused. Yeah, this would be one for the history books. He rubbed his hand over his eyes and recalled the feeling of hard muscle, of solid, masculine weight, of marble smooth planes sliding against his own hot, sensitized skin. His fingers ached to hold something that was just...actually, he didn’t know how long ago...within his grasp. The obvious solitude of the room was uncomfortably jarring, and Jim sighed, a long, drawn out exhalation of air. 

He sat up slowly, and winced as every muscle in his body protested; even his hair hurt. He rubbed his hands over his face again and stretched gingerly, which caused the vertebrae in his spine to pop, and he groaned in satisfaction. Pushing the coverlet aside, he moved his aching legs, one by one, to place his feet on the carpeted floor of his room. His bladder was insistently demanding attention, and after a few moments, Jim hauled himself upright and staggered into the bathroom. Feeling too weak to remain standing, he settled on the toilet seat and gripped his head in his hands. As he took stock of his recovering body, he felt a growing awareness of a tightness at the back of his skull, not bothersome, but nevertheless it seemed to resonate like the clear tone of a bell when he turned conscious attention to it. It was also skittery, a bit like chasing the remnants of a vivid dream upon waking up. Mentally, he poked at it, though he was uncertain if he was actually feeling something tangible, or if it was just some byproduct of being in a coma for four days and then subsequently being soundly ravished by his first officer upon regaining consciousness.

There was a sudden prickling along his skin, like a warm chill that ran up his spine, that made the hairs on the base of his neck and on his arms stand on end. It was momentary, like when one hears a particularly emotive musical refrain, and it faded as quickly as it had come.

When Jim exited the bathroom, dressed in his uniform gold, his door chime sounded. “Come in,” he said.

“Good morning, Jim,” came the low, rough velvet voice.

“Spock,” the captain felt a ridiculously wide, too wide, grin, suffuse his face. He cleared his throat. “You caught me at a good time. I woke up a little while ago.”

“Yes,” whispered Spock so quietly that Jim almost couldn’t hear, “I know.” The Vulcan stood just inside his quarters, as if hesitant to approach further. Jim realized he was going to have to be more forward, which was an equivalent exchange, he conceded, given that his friend had technically made the first move...all the moves...last night.

He walked up to his first officer and held out his hand, index and middle finger extended, “Um...someone told me once that this was...appropriate,” Jim cleared his throat nervously, but the look of fondness and relief that Spock gave him melted his reserve. They stood close enough to feel each other breathing, and Jim marveled at the tingly sensation that travelled up his arm when Spock tentatively caressed his fingers in the same, conservative gesture. Emboldened, Jim moved his fingers along the length of Spock’s own, sliding over knuckles and down the underside of warm, elegant fingers, and was thrilled to hear a small gasp escape Spock’s lips.

The other man reached out, grabbed Jim’s forearm with his free hand, and pulled their bodies together, his dark brown eyes almost black with pupils blown wide with arousal. Their lips met in a heated exchange, mouths opening and tongues tasting as the sensations of last night came flooding back. Jim smiled around the kiss and entwined their fingers, feeling a sense of a circle being drawn to completion as Spock deepened the embrace.

A small universe later, they broke apart, flushed and mouthing each other’s air. Jim stepped back, adjusted the tightness in his pants and ran a hand through his hair. “So...status report? What’s been happening since I’ve been out of it?”

His XO folded his hands behind his back in characteristic fashion, and assumed a collected air though his lips were dark and kiss-swollen. “Lieutenant Di Paola uncovered several packages of communication logs with Federation encryption, and Lieutenant Uhura is aiding us in translating them.”

“Translating? Why?”

“They are in Romulan, Captain.”

“Huh,” was Jim’s only response.

Spock continued, “We have also successfully decrypted some weapon schematics and formulae for manipulating the properties of dilithium. I have set up a series of experiments in the science laboratory, and we should have preliminary results in 2.3 hours.”

“Experiments, huh,” there was a twinkle in Jim’s eye as he looked sideways at Spock, “and we just happened to have spare dilithium kickin’ around?”

“Mr. Scott was able to beam aboard a small asteroid from the field we are currently in that contained a suitable amount of raw dilithium for our purposes.”

“And these weapon schematics, what--” there was a sudden juddering vibration and Sulu’s voice came across the intercom, tight with adrenalin.

“Hailing Captain Kirk and Commander Spock! You’re needed on the bridge! Right now!”

Running through the corridors to reach the bridge was taxing on Jim’s still healing body, but it was nothing compared to the sight that met his eyes as the turbolift doors opened. His heart clenched painfully as the main viewscreen revealed the wide central saucer shaped hull and outspread wings of a Romulan bird-of-prey. It was small, as far as warbirds went, but still hung menacingly like some sort of malevolent stingray in the watery darkness of space.

“Captain on the bridge!” yelled out an ensign, and Jim practically fell into his command chair. Spock had marched to his science station, which had been quickly vacated by his stand-in.

“Red alert!”

“Zey’re powering weapons again, Keptin!” shouted Chekov.

“Shields?” gasped Jim, over the sound of the klaxons.

“Holding steady at 89 percent, Sir!”

“Increase forward shield strength! Spock, do we have a shield frequency?”

“Affirmative, Captain,” came Spock’s cool voice. 

“Modulate phaser frequency to match, target their nacelles, fire when ready!” A volley of sparkling balls of concentrated energy spread out in twinned lines from the Enterprise and exploded upon the port and starboard areas of the enemy ship.

“Zeir shields are down to 20 percent, Keptin!” Chekov reported, and steadied himself on his console as an answering retort burst along the Enterprise’s forward shielding, rocking the ship.

“Keep firing!” ordered Jim, “when their shields go down, take out their nacelles; arm photon torpedoes! Sulu, standard manoeuver beta 1!”

“Aye, aye, Sir!” came the responses from the helm.

After another volley, Chekov barked, “Zeir shields are down!”

“Fire torpedoes!”

“Torpedoes away,” the ensign pressed a button on his screen.

The Enterprise-A’s superior fire power out-gunned the smaller bird-of-prey, and Jim watched with satisfaction as explosions from the compromised enemy ship lit up the viewscreen.

“Direct hit, Sir!” reported Chekov, “Pryamo v tochku!” He reached over and clapped Sulu on the shoulder in delight. However, the glee was short-lived. Chekov’s face fell as the monitoring panel lit up red once more.

“Two more birds-of-prey have decloaked, Keptin! Port an’ starboard!” The ship rocked as enemy phaser fire came at both sides, and seatbelts automatically deployed, pinning Jim effectively to his command chair.

“Evasive action, protect our flanks!” shouted the captain, his knuckles white. He grimaced and swivelled slightly to glance back at Spock, who shook his head minutely. They both knew that a face-to-face fight with one warbird was child’s play for Starfleet’s flagship, but facing two at once was putting them in an undesirable position, to say the least.

“Shields down to 50 percent, Sir!”

“Mr. Sulu, evasive pattern delta 5, engage!” The helmsman’s fingers flew over his console, and he grasped the throttle lever tightly, manipulating the ship through a jerky, swerving manoeuver that left anyone with a weak stomach green around the gills. The Enterprise whined in protest even as the red alert klaxons continued to sound.

Jim smacked his hand down on a button on the arm of his chair and yelled out, “Scotty! Give me all the power she’s got!”

“At the rate we’re goin’ warp seven’s the best I can do ye!” came the terse reply.

“Spock?” uttered Jim’s querulous voice.

“I’ve plotted a course that should allow us to evade them successfully, Captain. Sending coordinates to the helm now.” Spock, as always, remained cool as a cucumber. 

A stream of orange-red plasma energy streamed past their bow, narrowly missing them. “We’ve broken free, Captain!”

“Nice driving, Sulu! Now get us out of here; go, go, go!” Jim shouted.

The Enterprise shot forward as the warp bubble closed around her, and the viewscreen faded to black as they wrapped space around themselves and disappeared.

Jim looked around the bridge at his command crew, and they stared back at him in varying levels of shock and surprise. Though the Romulans were widely known amongst the Federation for their infamy, few of his young crew, save perhaps Spock, had any experience with that species.

“What the hell was that? Where did they come from?!” demanded Jim.

“Their cloaking technology makes it difficult to pinpoint--” began Spock.

“We were pretty well hidden in the asteroid field,” the captain argued, and then continued, “It was like they were tracking...or hunting us. But you did say that it was only a matter of time...” He indicated at Spock with a wave of his hand, got up and began to pace.

“Spock, you said that the communication transmissions we uncovered were in Romulan.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Lieutenant Uhura, where are you in translating the data?”

“Almost completed, Sir. They’re mostly regarding the transportation of some apparatus to some off-planet site, we believe it may be for testing purposes. There have also been more mentions of weapons of some sort as well.”

“That makes sense given what was found on the planet.” Jim stopped pacing and flung himself back into his chair, one leg outstretched, the fingers of one hand drumming a tattoo on the armrest. “But why wrap it in Federation encoding? What are they planning to do with the weapons?” he mused out loud.

The bridge was ominously silent after the cacophony of red alert had died away. Jim could see the puzzle laid out before him, but he was uncertain of the whole picture, or if he even had all the pieces.

“Is this some sort of invasion force by the Romulans? Or a double-play? And how does the Oberth factor into all of this?” His subordinates held their collective breath, waiting as their captain’s brilliant mind began to pick apart the mystery. Jim looked up and stared at the main viewscreen with its overlaid course telemetry readings as they fled through the darkness of space. He didn’t voice the word that came into his mind, though he was sure everyone could hear it. Was this...treason?

Jim knew with all the clarity of hard-won experience and half a dozen extremely close calls that his first duty was to his crew, his family. The decisions he made would affect them all. The responsibilities of the Chair were a heavy weight, but he was James Tiberius Kirk - son of George and Winona Kirk, successor to Christopher Pike - and he was more than up to the job. Besides, he was not alone.

“What’s our next move, Spock?” Jim turned and glanced over his right shoulder, meeting deep brown eyes that had never once looked away from the captain’s form.

“Alerting any potentially corrupt agent within Starfleet of what we have discovered is a risk we may have to take, Jim. The Enterprise alone is not strong enough to withstand an invasion of any size the Romulans would be likely to muster,” said Spock, frankly.

“You’re right,” Jim looked momentarily annoyed, “of course you’re right.” He nodded to Uhura, whose posture was taut with concern. “Lieutenant, contact Starfleet. Priority one, secure. I’ll take it in my ready room.”

“Yes, Captain.” Uhura turned back to her console, flicked a toggle and pressed her hand to her earpiece.

Jim pressed a button on his armrest. “Bones…”

“Jim! What’s goin’ on up there?” came the doctor’s voice, tight with worry.

“Join me in the ready room,” was all the captain said as he rose from the command chair. His eyes flickered to Spock, who followed immediately as he stepped from the platform. 

“Sulu, take the conn.”

The three men had a moment to themselves as Uhura attempted to establish a subspace communication link from the depths of uncharted space. Jim leaned his weight on both his hands and looked at his two best friends across the desk. There was a tightness around his eyes, but his handsome face was determined.

“Bones, Spock, what’re your thoughts about all of this?”

“Something bugs me about how Winona Kirk’s transmission fits into all of this, Jim. It led us to this whole mess, but it doesn’t make sense. We’re missing a big piece of the puzzle, I can feel it in my waters,” growled Dr. McCoy.

Spock looked askance at the doctor, but Jim caught his eye and shook his head slightly. The Vulcan turned away and opened his mouth to speak. “I concur with the doctor. However, it would be advisable to deal as expediently as possible with the threat in front of us.”

“Agreed,” nodded Jim.

The comm beeped and Uhura’s voice said, “I have established a connection, Captain. Starfleet Command is standing by.”

“Good. Patch it through.” The captain sat down and took a moment to centre himself. The viewscreen on the desk flickered with the Starfleet logo, then revealed the high collared starched grey and white uniform and severe countenance of a pewter-haired admiral with flinty dark bronze eyes. “Captain Kirk, this is Starfleet Command Priority Alpha. You have something to report?”

“Yes, Admiral uh,” Jim hesitated.

“I am Admiral Elias Parrl.”

“Admiral Parrl,” Jim paused and licked his lips before continuing in a careful monotone, “the Enterprise was surveying a planetary system on the edge of the neutral zone. We have discovered that there is a mining facility with weapons testing capability on one of the planets, as well as high concentrations of naturally occurring dilithium deposits. The mine seems to be using Federation technology, possibly stolen. Shortly afterward, we encountered a hostile Romulan force. Three warbirds mounted an unprovoked attack on us at approximately 1400 hours. We disabled their lead ship, and evaded the remaining two.”

“Where are the other ships now? Are you sure you are not being followed?” asked Admiral Parrl, his manner suddenly attentive and his voice sharp.

“Affirmative, Sir. However, I do not doubt they are continuing to search for us.” Jim stared slightly above and to the right of the Admiral’s shoulder.

“And what were you doing so far out that you’ve caught the attention of the Romulans?” Admiral Parrl’s face wore a look of extreme disapproval.

“With all due respect, Sir, it is our mission’s mandate to explore uncharted space. The Romulans were the ones who violated the 2160 Treaty by crossing the neutral zone.”

“Even so,” snapped the admiral. “Your mandate does _ not _ include inciting unnecessary conflict!” He narrowed his eyes, “Your coordinates have you quite off course from your originally reported telemetry, and you have missed your last two report submissions. Is there anything you’re neglecting to tell me?”

Jim bristled at what he felt was both unjustified critique, and being treated like an errant teenager who had missed his curfew. There was definitely something about this fussy and pompous admiral that rubbed him the wrong way, and a slight frown creased his carefully neutral expression, but he answered benignly, “No, Sir.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Spock raise an eyebrow.

The admiral was silent for several agonizing seconds, as if weighing him up. The older man then sighed and the look on his face changed to one of resignation. “Yes, we are aware of the movements of the Romulans.”

Jim, who was expecting a continued tirade, stuttered, “Wait...you’re what?”

The admiral leaned forward conspiratorially, “What I am about to tell you is a level five security clearance. You are being brought in on a...strictly need-to-know basis, are we clear?”

Jim nodded and said nothing, though he glanced at McCoy and Spock briefly.

“There is a faction within the Romulan government that is anxious to find a solution to stabilizing their star. I am aware of who you are, Captain Kirk. I would theorize that you, your career trajectory and life so far, are a direct consequence of the events that unfolded thirty years ago. Therefore, you are in the best position to appreciate the information we now have of Romulus that Ambassador Spock unwittingly provided us when he appeared into our...time.

“By helping these particular Romulans with their problem, we gain a lucrative bargaining chip in future negotiations for securing the continued peace of the Federation.”

“Understood, Sir. But their sun is an issue for every Romulan, and negotiating peace with that species is an ongoing concern for the Federation,” reasoned Jim. “Surely it would be better to appear to be working transparently in conjunction with the Romulan government.”

“You are a _ smart _ man, Captain Kirk,” Admiral Parrl curled his lip, “but we are confident that this plan will have a greater chance of success if we work solely with those elements who are willing to put our differences aside for the good of their home.”

“But who is ‘we’? Is this a Starfleet--” started Jim, but Admiral Parrl interrupted him.

“You are ordered to return to the planet and the mining facility, and aid the faction with developing a solution to their dying star. The success of this mission depends on a foolproof resolution, which, based on the _ exemplary _ actions of you and your crew so far, I am sure you will provide.”

“Nevertheless, Admiral--”

“I am not used to being cross-examined, Captain! You have your orders.”

Jim shut his mouth, but his blue eyes were cold. “Understood, Sir. Kirk out.” He pressed the end call button a little harder than necessary and let out the breath he had been unconsciously holding.

“Well...that went well,” said McCoy, sardonically. The doctor fidgeted while Spock folded his hands behind his back. Jim licked his lips, a pensive habit when he was lost in thought. Unobserved, a tiny hint of a flush coloured the Vulcan’s cheeks as he watched his captain.

The revelation had come as a surprise, as had the orders. To Jim, the admiral’s cursory explanations were unsatisfactory. He had always had a problem with authority anyway, and more so when the person giving the orders was a stuck up admiral who’d probably sat so many years at a desk job that he’d forgotten what it was like on the Final Frontier. So was the Romulan attack self-defense? How large was the scale of this undercover operation? There were still too many unanswered questions. He looked up at his officers.

“Well, gentlemen, what do you figure we’re getting into here?”

“At tankful of piranhas? A pit full of Cardassian vipers? I like these orders as much as I’d like getting thrown into those, so I’m accepting this under duress,” said McCoy.

“Objections noted,” said Jim, smiling wryly. “But on the plus side, we’ve got a great excuse to continue investigating now.”

“Pfft, plus side my ass,” muttered the doctor out of the side of his mouth.

“Captain, why did you omit telling the admiral about Lieutenant Commander Kirk’s communication?” asked Spock.

Jim looked up at his first officer, “I guess I thought something bad might happen if I told him about it. Call it a gut feeling, Spock.”

“That is highly illogical, but as your ‘gut feelings’ have generally proven themselves accurate, I defer to your good judgement.”

“You know me so well,” said the captain, smiling fondly.

“Okay you two, stop your flirting, it’s time to get back to work,” McCoy shook his head in mock disapproval.

“Embarrassing you, Bones?” Jim grinned widely, showing all teeth, but Spock turned away, ostensibly to look out of the porthole. However, when the doctor had left to return to Sickbay, he walked back over to Jim.

“The results of the dilithium experiments will be completed by the end of alpha shift. Would you like to review them together...over dinner?”

“Is this work, or pleasure?” inquired Jim, his sky blue eyes twinkling with amusement.

Spock cocked his head to one side. “I believe it could be both...Captain.”

Jim laughed and held out his hand, two fingers outstretched. His first officer returned the gesture, a tiny hint of a smile hovering at the edges of his mouth, and as the pads of their fingertips touched, Jim felt a shiver run up his arm.

* * *

It wasn’t anything Spock would ever admit to, but as he made his way through the Enterprise’s corridors from the science laboratory to his quarters, he felt his heart pounding a little faster than normal, and that was only partly due to the fact that he was running behind schedule to meet the captain by 3.25 minutes.

The turbolift doors opened, and Spock could see Jim, punctual as always, waiting for him between the doors to their quarters, leaning nonchalantly with one foot pressed back against the wall and arms crossed. His fair head was bent and his eyes were downcast. He looked tired and slightly careworn, and Spock was reminded of all the things that had happened to his captain all too recently. He approached cautiously.

Jim said of himself that he had ‘a nose for danger’, however Spock surmised that the more accurate description would be that danger was attracted to him. He cleared his throat as he walked up silently and the captain’s head jerked up.

“Hey, Spock,” smiled Jim, a little wanly.

“Captain, you require rest. We can reconvene tomorrow if--”

“No, no, absolutely not!” Jim pushed himself away from the wall and grasped Spock’s shoulder. “I’m interested in finding out the results of the experiment. And besides,” he chuckled quietly, “I want to spend time with you.”

“I concede that I am...pleased that you said that, Jim.” Spock gave a tiny smile and Jim beamed like the sun appearing behind clouds after rain.

They entered Spock’s quarters and Jim looked around with interest. He rarely visited his first officer’s room, as they both preferred to have their semi-regular chess games in Jim’s larger accommodations. The space was scrupulously neat, and rather lavishly decorated with rich wall hangings embroidered in gold thread with Vulcan script. A few esoterically shaped sculptures stood amongst some house plants, and a large, intricately carved bowl containing some heavily spiced incense bricks rested on a shelf along with a rather comical potted cactus under a sunlamp. A sleek, though rather nondescript, brushed aluminium box held pride of place on another shelf.

In truth, it was much more personalized than the captain’s own quarters. Years of living a life of what Jim deprecatingly called ‘self-induced vagrancy’ where he never truly felt he belonged anywhere, either at his step dad's home, or on Tarsus IV with its too painful memories locked down deep, at various girlfriends’ and boyfriends’ homes, or even at the Academy, had ensured that Jim packed light and sometimes left places with little else other than the clothes on his back. 

Jim walked over to examine the cactus as Spock operated the food synthesizer unit.

“Was this the cactus Sulu gave you for your birthday that one year?” he asked, prodding gently at a rather lethal looking spine.

“Affirmative,” said Spock, concentrating on the selection panel.

Jim turned with an amused look. “What...no comeback about Vulcans not celebrating illogical things like birthdays?”

“As you have already done me the favour of pointing that fact out, Captain, I feel it is unnecessary to repeat it.”

Jim laughed out loud and moved to stand behind Spock. He hesitated for a moment before reaching out and wrapping his arms around the Vulcan’s slim waist. Instantly, he felt an infinitesimal tensing of corded muscle and pulled away quickly.

“No--” began Spock.

“God, I’m so sorry!” Jim blurted, “I didn’t mean--”

Spock turned and caught his hand. “You misunderstand, Jim. I merely wanted to express that no one other than Nyota has embraced me like that before.” He looked into Jim’s shocked, wide blue eyes. “It is a pleasant sensation, and I welcome it.”

“Oh! Uh...okay then,” the deer-caught-in-the-headlights look left Jim’s face, but instead of returning to the embrace, he squeezed Spock’s hand rather awkwardly and let it go, walking to the other side of the room to sit on the couch. Though they had been close friends for several years now, the transition from friend to lover would inevitably require some delicate maneuvering, and a definite period of adjustment. 

Spock brought the food - two salads, one with some alien fruit arranged on it and the other with more recognizable chicken breast and avocado - and two tall glasses of water over to the low table and Jim observed with amusement, “Trying to change my eating habits already, Spock?”

“This salad has the optimal amount of vitamins, minerals and dietary proteins for effective digestion, and is formulated to appeal to most humans’ tastes, however if you prefer--”

“I’m kidding, Spock,” said Jim, a tad exasperatedly, “It looks delicious, thanks for cooking.”

The Vulcan opened his mouth to rationalise that the food was chemically combined by the computer and that he had not, in fact, cooked anything, but shut it when Jim gave him a ‘look’. They ate and drank companionably in silence, and after the meal, Jim got up to clear the dishes and place them in the reprocessor.

“So, what did you and your buddies over in Science Lab 2 discover?” he asked upon returning to the sitting area.

“The results of the experiments using the formulae retrieved from the mine have proven interesting, Jim.” Spock activated his PADD as the captain sat down close beside him. “It appears that the rate of degradation increases with the dichotomous application of pressure and heat, which moves the dilithium from a solid state to plasma, enabling the output of energy to be effectively concentrated and harnessed.”

Jim grinned, despite himself. He took the PADD from Spock and scrolled through the data, greedily absorbing the information presented in the various glowing graphs and sprawling, abstruse formulas that were all greek to any lesser man. He whistled softly through his teeth as he ran through the calculations in his head. 

“What do you think they’re gonna do with this?” He tapped the side of the PADD absently in thought.

“Increasing the energy output of the mineral unlocks the ability to utilize it in multiple ways. If we were to draw any conclusions regarding the weapons we discovered there…”

Jim frowned and a muscle along his jaw twitched. “I can’t shake the bad feeling I’ve got about all this, Spock.”

“Nevertheless, Jim, our orders are clear. We are to return to the planet and render aid to the Romulans.”

“I know how much you _ love _ that,” observed Jim, sarcastically.

“It is unfortunate that my personal feelings on the matter are of little consequence in this case,” Spock said candidly.

“You’re a deeply emotional man, aren’t you.” Jim placed the PADD on the table and turned fully to face Spock, looking up at him from under serious brows.

The Vulcan had a mild look of surprise on his face. “That is an...interesting...observation, Captain.”

“There you go, being all formal when you get uncomfortable, again.” Jim quirked a half smile.

“It is not my intention to keep you at arm’s length...Jim,” and as if to drive his point home, Spock reached towards his face and ran his fingertips along Jim’s temple, pushing his bangs from his forehead, ghosting down the side of his cheek and settling below the curved shell of one ear. Jim gasped as the touch left a blazing trail of sparks, and raised the hairs from the nape of his neck all the way down his arms to his wrists. At the same time, there came unbidden into his mind a waterfall of warmth like a stream of summer sunshine spilling through an open window.

“What…” he murmured, “what am I feeling?” Jim licked his lips, intoxicated.

“Me,” whispered Spock, and he leaned forward, closing what little distance there was between them and captured that delicious tongue in his hungry mouth.

Spock pushed Jim down into the cushions of the couch and climbed over him to stretch full length against the other man’s body, all conversation about dilithium experiments and fascinating formulae forgotten. His free hand reached down to pull both their shirts up to their armpits, and when he settled his bare chest against the captain’s, the super heated Vulcan skin pressing against the human’s cooler flesh made Jim groan deep into Spock’s mouth. They were of similar height, and Spock moved slowly, teasingly, rubbing their nipples together, his chest hair like rough velvet tickling against smooth pink skin, eliciting more lewd sounds from Jim as he writhed beneath him.

They kissed hungrily, teeth clashing in their haste, attacking and parrying, and Jim carded his fingers through the thick, black, silken hair and pulled, hard. Spock grunted, aroused, and broke the kiss. Lips shiny with spittle, he gazed down at Jim with fierce, passion-blown eyes, a spread of emerald high on his cheekbones.

“Off,” ordered Jim, his voice husky with lust, “take it all off.”

The half-Vulcan complied readily, leaning back on his heels to divest himself of his shirts, and then snapping open the button and unzipping his charcoal grey uniform pants. He moved off of Jim and deftly stepped out of his pants and regulation black underwear.

Jim propped himself up on his elbows and watched with undisguised fascination; he had never seen Spock fully naked before, not even after the gym, as he had always preferred to return to his quarters rather than use the communal sonic showers. Soon, Jim was rewarded with his first officer standing nude, smooth pale skin glowing with an almost burnished sheen except where the dark rug of hair covered his muscular chest, forearms and legs, partially obscuring the marble planes in the most alluring way. His abdomen was chiseled, his waist was slender, and his arousal was a thing of beauty, standing long and thick from a thatch of ebony curls like a satin brushed, jade coloured column. 

Jim was struck dumb. Spock was a perfect specimen of Vulcan masculinity, tempered by some inherently human traits. He had inherited his mother’s finer bone structure, which made him slightly shorter than the average full blooded Vulcan male, and he had her limpid, expressive brown eyes, full of warmth and deep feeling that belied his outward physiognomy.

The captain sat up and pulled the other man to him, which brought his face to the perfect level of that enticing crotch. Spock exuded a heady, warm scent, reminiscent of hot desert breezes, and Jim was almost painfully turned on by it. He placed his hands on either side of those slim hips, thumbs wrapped around the deep v’s of the transverse abdominis, and looked up at Spock from under his long lashes, the corners of his mouth dimpled and his upper lip plump and moist. With cerulean orbs holding dark umber ones captive, he opened his sinful mouth and deliberately swallowed the Vulcan’s erect and weeping cock in one slow, continuous motion.

Spock inhaled sharply through clenched teeth and buried long fingers in tousled, dark blond locks as Jim started moving his mouth rhythmically up and down the length, sucking and swirling his tongue around the pronounced ridges, feeling the lacework texture of engorged veins, all the while humming with intoxicated pleasure. He swept his hands over Spock’s taut ass and down his lean flanks, and he could feel the muscles in the Vulcan’s legs start to tremble slightly.

Jim eased back, slowing the pace, and placed a ring of soft kisses around the engorged head; he wanted the pleasure to last as long as possible. Then an idea came to him...Vulcans hands were their erogenous zones, weren’t they. He grabbed Spock’s left hand and gently removed it from where it was entwined in his hair. The Vulcan’s eyes opened halfway, foggy with lust, and he watched impassively as Jim guided the hand to wrap around his member as if wanting him to pleasure himself, fore and middle fingers lying flat against the shaft. Satisfied with the placement, Jim returned his mouth and tongue back to their former ministrations, this time laving and teasing the knuckles and skin of Spock’s fingers along with his cock.

“Aaah,” Spock cried out, aroused beyond measure. A copious amount of warm, viscous, slightly salty fluid started to fill Jim’s mouth, and leaked out from around his lips and down his chin, dripping onto his shirt front.

Bingo! Thought Jim, and redoubled his efforts. The silence of the room was filled with lewd moans and the rhythmic slide of saliva- and precum-slicked flesh. Spock’s hips started to buck forward automatically, searching desperately for ever more sensation, and his right hand was like a vice on the back of Jim’s head. 

All the while, Jim felt the golden warmth he had experienced earlier still pouring into his mind, and if anything it was strengthening, like a heavy heat in the air before a summer storm. Spock quickened his pace, and Jim found his eyes tearing up; it was all he could do to hang on, breathe and supress his gag reflex as the stronger man suddenly began to fuck his mouth in earnest.

Suddenly, the sensation in his mind expanded and intensified almost painfully, and Jim reeled unexpectedly, dizzy from a bizarre sense of vertigo. His cheeks and nose were covered in pre-cum and he choked and cried out, unable to pull away. A bloom of panic exploded behind his eyes, and he must have blacked out momentarily, because when his vision cleared, Spock was looking worriedly down into his face, his hands cradling his head as if it were something fragile and breakable.

“I am sorry, Jim, I could not control--” began Spock.

“Wha...what was that, Spock?” asked Jim, confused, but he reached out and caressed the Vulcan’s legs reassuringly. “I just want to know. It’s a little strange, is all.”

Spock sat down beside him, fingers twisted together in an uncharacteristic display of anxiety. “We are joining, though we are not joined,” he said, cryptically. “My katra seeks yours, and as our physical intimacy intensifies, it becomes increasingly difficult to maintain my mental shielding and keep my distance from you.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Perhaps it is better if we sto--”

“No!” Jim blurted, his voice loud in the hush of the room. “No...I,” he continued more quietly. “I want this. I just need to understand what’s going on.” He wiped his face, wet with tears and Spock’s sexual fluids, on his sleeve, and then decided that his shirt was a lost cause, pulled it over his head and discarded it on the floor.

They sat in silence, Spock deliberately not meeting his eyes, the smell of sex still clinging to the air. With typical impatience, Jim fidgeted and then clasped his friend’s hand in his own. He could feel him stiffen, but he did not pull away.

“Look, Spock, I haven’t come this far to give up now,” Jim reasoned, “just tell me what’s going on and we’ll make it work, I promise.”

“Captain--” Spock started, then corrected himself when Jim made an exasperated face, “Jim, I have deep reservations that an intimate relationship between us will work. I find myself fearing for your safety and well-being.”

“You’re not making any sense, Spock. I don’t see how some mental, emotional, whatever transference could be _ that _ bad, if that’s what you’re telling me.”

Spock looked away, but Jim was persistent. “Look, can you mind-meld or something with me? Maybe do that thing where you enter my unconsciousness or whatever? Spock, whatever it is, I--”

“You do not understand--”

“Well then, explain it, dammit!”

The two men stared at each other, frustrated and seemingly at an impasse. Spock sighed, uncertain as to how to proceed. He was caught between the veil of secrecy surrounding any discussion of a Vulcan’s private life, which explained his recalcitrance, and doing as his closest friend and captain asked. In the end, resisting Jim Kirk when he wanted something was the one thing he always had trouble with.

“In Vulcan culture and society, the formation of a bond and the rituals surrounding it may happen only once or twice in a Vulcan’s lifetime, if at all.”

“Wait, you’re not talking about that thing that happens every seven years, are you?”

“The bond to which I am referring can be associated with Pon Farr, but it is not necessary for one to beget the other.” Spock looked questioningly at Jim. “How did you--”

“I may have asked Uhura one time...about your...you know, and how you...you guys, um…” Jim blushed, outed, “Anyway...she was really detailed and explicit and...informative…”

Spock blinked, but did not pursue the matter. He continued, “The time of mating is an overriding urge that overwhelms all other motivations, but Vulcans are not restricted to mating _ only _ every seven years.”

“Yes, I’m well aware,” the captain grinned despite the seriousness of the conversation.

“I am referring to what in human parlance would be called ‘finding one’s soulmate’. However in a telepathic species, the meaning of such a bond has considerably more significance, as have any repercussions inherent in it should that bond be broken or otherwise unwisely formed.”

Jim started to look vaguely uncomfortable as the weight of what Spock was telling him sunk in. The Vulcan continued, looking down at their still joined hands, “if the depth of this bond is as deep as I think it is, Jim, I am justifiably concerned about what it would mean to my relationship to you, to Uhura, and to any future that I might need to leave myself open to pursuing on New Vulcan.”

“You’re concerned about the ramifications of what might happen to your future if we discovered we’re...soulmates?” Jim sputtered. “Wait, hang on, what’s all this about New Vulcan?”

“It is only a consideration,” said Spock dismissively, and continued, “There are reasons why I am reluctant to perform a mind-meld with you, Jim. I cannot predict how--”

“You’re afraid you’ll hit a point of no return, huh,” surmised the captain.

“Precisely,” said Spock, looking resigned.

“But you’ve already been in my brain.”

“The circumstances surrounding that event were different...and necessary. Dr. McCoy’s expressions of concern necessitated drastic measures to try and extract you from your coma.”

“Huh,” huffed Jim, falling despondently back into the couch cushions. “So what? No sex? We admit we have feelings for each other and that’s it?” He rolled his head and glanced sideways at Spock.

The Vulcan was silent.

Jim pursed his lips and stared at the impassive face in frustration. “Well, I wouldn’t want you to get your wires all crossed, or, god forbid, make the _ wrong _ decision.” He felt a bubble of anger and disappointment rising in his throat, wrenched his hand back and stood up, looking around for his discarded shirt and his boots.

“Mr. Spock, we should be arriving at the planet soon,” he said, perfunctorily, once he had gathered up his things.

“There are still 4.36 hours before we re-enter that planetary system, Jim.”

“Fine. Then I’ll spend that 4.36 hours back in my quarters.” Jim struggled into his grey undershirt and zipped up his boots, bundling his gold shirt into a tight, shameful bundle. “I’ll say good night. Thank you for the dinner.” And with that, he released the door lock and was gone.

Spock, pale and motionless, looked long at the door that had closed on the form of his friend as the stillness and sudden silence settled on his naked skin.

‘Hello darkness my old friend’...some ancient song lyrics rose unbidden in Jim’s head as he escaped to the sanctuary of his own quarters. He felt confused, frustrated, and inexplicably...sad. He could go talk to Bones about this. He could, but he wasn’t going to. He wouldn’t be able to stand that ‘I told you so’ face. The doctor being understanding was a terrible thing no one should be subjected to.

He wandered to the bathroom and stared at his reflection in the mirror. His hair was a mess, his lips were stained cherry pink and swollen, his cheeks and the skin around his mouth felt tight with a film of tears, dried spittle and Spock’s...he wiped a hand across his jaw, the ghost of an ache from being so recently distended around...damn, that Vulcan was ridiculously, unfairly, well-endowed.

Disjointed, useless thoughts swirled around Jim’s head, and he ground his teeth in frustration. He knew he should be concentrating on getting to the bottom of his mother’s cryptic message and - what seemed to be increasingly more likely - her murder, and those of her crewmates. He should be investigating the creepy admiral who gave him all those weird vibes and rubbed him the wrong way. He should be formulating a plan for when they returned to the planet, and how to keep his crew safe. He should be doing all these things with his first officer by his side, not feeling like he was just jilted by him instead, that he couldn’t even talk to him.

But actually, he was the one who ran away in the end, wasn’t it. It always ended up being him that ended things, or stopping things before they even started. Story of my life, mused Jim humorlessly. Galactic playboy on the surface, but just a little, scared shitless asshole too used to running away, to not taking responsibility for anything...just like Pike had said to him once, when the Enterprise got taken away...when Pike...now Mom...

Jim’s rage, the rage against all the unfairness of life, of all the things out of control, of all those no-win scenarios, suddenly welled up in him and overflowed.

“AAAAAH!” he yelled, and punched the mirror, hard.

“Aaahhshiiit!!”

Tears of pain glittered in his eyes as he gripped his throbbing, wounded fist with his other hand. “Fuck! Fuck this!”

He looked down, unable to even bear his own reflection. Jim turned on the tap and washed his face and neck with cold water, scrubbed at his skin viciously and ran wet hands through his sandy hair. When he toweled off, he glanced at his reflection one more time. He didn’t feel any better inside, but at least he looked a bit more pulled together. He threw himself belly first onto the bed and buried his face in the pillow. Stewing alone with his eyes closed was at least better than not getting any rest. As Jim’s mind quieted, he conceded that getting a little taste of Spock was better than no taste at all. He reached down, adjusted himself, and briefly considered the relaxing properties of a solid masterbatory session, but in the very next moment, he had fallen asleep.

The captain was awakened by the chirruping of his comm unit by his bedside. “Kirk,” he said, his voice still heavy with sleep.

“We have re-entered the planetary system, Captain,” came an unknown ensign’s voice.

“Very good. I’ll be on the bridge soon. Assemble the command crew.”

“Understood, Sir.”

“Kirk out.”

Jim hurried out of bed, freshened up and changed into a new uniform. He exited his quarters at the same time as Spock came out of his.

“Captain,” Spock nodded, impassive, and moved to walk ahead, but Jim caught his arm.

“Mr. Spock, wait.” The Vulcan halted, and turned his head, cautiously. Jim licked his lips, “Look. Do me a favour, okay? I think you owe me this much,” he said, a tad selfishly.

Spock, who had perfected his statue impression to a tee, waited for him to elucidate. Jim couldn’t feel anything from him now, and imagined that his mental shields must have been reinforced with bands of titanium. “When this is all over...when we put my mom’s...Lieutenant Commander Kirk’s mystery to rest and get to the bottom of everything that’s going on, let’s try again, okay?”

Brown eyes softened imperceptibly and Spock looked almost shyly up at Jim. “I am amenable, Jim.”

The captain smiled, and suddenly, the near future didn’t seem so daunting after all.

* * *

The lights on the bridge of the USS Oberth were dim, which was the way Captain Gordon Howard preferred it. It hid the fact that he was basically running an entire science vessel with a skeleton crew. The incoming communications beacon lit up behind him and a series of beeps sounded insistently.

“It’s the Admiral, sir,” announced his communications officer, a thin, small man with mousy brown hair that was receding far past the point of no return, and a sharp, weasel-like face.

“On screen,” ordered the captain. The main viewscreen flickered and Admiral Parrl’s aristocratic features appeared with his characteristic, I-just-smelled-something-unpleasant scowl firmly affixed.

“Howard, when are you due to return to the planet?”

“That Romulan has been giving me a hard time with the shipments, so I don’t know when I’ll be welcome back there,” complained Captain Howard, without much heat.

“Your movements are not tr’Chelok’s concern. We are partners in this endeavor, you’d be good enough to remind him.”

“He seems to think he’s king of the hill there, that’s for sure. But why do you ask? The latest round of testing was only minimally successful. I’d get better people on R&D if I were you.”

The admiral pursed his lips into a thin line, irritated at being addressed in such a casual manner. But Captain Howard, for all his seeming disinterestedness, was a scientist at heart, and researching the properties of dilithium was his life’s work. He had only reluctantly become a captain, being the only person with enough of the right qualifications for the job at the time.

“As it happens, I have some new recruits for you, which should speed up the process significantly,” said Parrl.

“Unless they’re some sort of geniuses, I very much doubt that. We’ve hit a wall with the reaction output, and I still can’t squeeze nearly enough juice out of the material while keeping it within the physical parameters needed for the weapon.” Howard looked bored and slightly irritated. He was having a really chill day until Admiral Parrl decided to interrupt with that stuck up nose and annoyingly shrill voice of his.

“I need you back on the planet to rendezvous with the Enterprise.”

“Wait a minute,” Howard sat up in his chair, “You don’t mean the Enterprise as in Captain James Tiberius Kirk of the Enterprise, do you?”

“That is precisely who I mean,” snapped Parrl, irritated. “Due to some unforeseen developments, he and his crew will now be helping in our...concern.”

Howard looked around at his meagre contingent of crew, and a worried look came over his face. “You _ do _ know what I had to do to another person with that same last name, don’t you?”

“And that is exactly why you are tasked with keeping an eye on him, and when he and his crew no longer prove useful, you will see to it that they are...disposed of.”

The captain shook his head, “There are over four hundred crew on that ship! It’s one thing to ensure a few dissenters have an unfortunate ‘accident’, and quite another thing to make an entire starship, hell, the damn flagship of Starfleet, disappear!”

“I may be able to arrange something,” Parrl conceded. “For now, you are to make sure Captain Kirk and his crew are of use to you. He has that half-Vulcan first officer of his. A real bright spark, I’m told.”

“I don’t like this, Admiral. They’re too high profile. Someone is going to take notice when they go missing.”

“If this mission is successful, Starfleet will have bigger things to worry about than some young upstart captain and his poster perfect crew. Besides, they know nothing about us. He believes his instructions come from Starfleet Command.”

“If his record is to be believed, Kirk is not a fan of us.” Howard’s mouth was twisted in a frown and he looked uncomfortable. “That whole Marcus business caused us a lot of trouble.”

“Well, then you will have to ensure that he doesn’t go poking his nose where it doesn’t belong,” Admiral Parrl was dismissive.

“He’s smart. He might figure things out,” rejoined Howard, dubiously.

“Then make sure you are _ smarter _.” Parrl leaned back imperiously in his seat. “Get to the planet, Howard. Parrl out.”

The admiral sat pensively for a while after he ended the conversation with Captain Howard. He had his doubts that Howard would be able to handle Kirk, but Parrl’s towering sense of superiority did not allow him to consider what would happen if Starfleet’s poster-boy, the youngest Captain in the fleet, and all-round rebellious wild-card, derailed their plans. They were too entrenched now anyway; the mission was practically running with a life of its own, pushed along by the inertia of all their carefully constructed negotiations with the Romulan faction. Even if Kirk managed to throw a wrench in the works, it wouldn’t make any appreciable difference.

Parrl drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. He was, however, going to have to do something about that troublesome Romulan, tr’Chelok. The admiral was under no misapprehension that it was he who confronted the Enterprise in that firefight. But what had brought Kirk to that sector in the first place? Was it pure chance? He would get to the bottom of it eventually. Parrl had been playing the game long enough to know that ‘good things come to those who wait’, and he was nothing if not a patient man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter six title is from Shakespeare's Henry V.


	7. For where thou art, there is the world itself

Jim Kirk sat in his command chair, flanked by Dr. McCoy on his left and Spock on his right. They looked intently at the viewscreen and the now familiar asteroid-littered field surrounding the highly geologically active planet. Suddenly, a proximity alert sounded in a series of anxiety building beeps.

“There is a ship approaching from the far side of the asteroid field, Keptin,” Chekov looked worriedly at his instrument panel, “It has a...Starfleet signature.”

“On screen,” commanded Jim.

A small science vessel, its nacelles attached to either side of its suspended, saucer-shaped primary hull, appeared on the main viewscreen. Jim did not have to see its inscribed name and registry number to recognize that its unique split hull design denoted the only one in its class - the USS Oberth.

McCoy stepped closer and placed a hand on Jim’s shoulder as the captain’s knuckles whitened on edges of the armrests. Spock glanced sideways and said nothing.

“They are hailing us, Captain,” announced Uhura.

“Open a channel, Lieutenant. Let’s see what they have to say.” Jim shrugged McCoy’s hand off his shoulder.

A rather bland looking caucasian man with ruddy cheeks and ashy, thinning hair combed over a pronounced widow’s peak, looked back at the Enterprise bridge crew. Long faded good looks and the ghost of a strong jaw behind sagging jowls made him seem like he could be Jim’s uncle twice removed, or some other forgotten member in some protracted family tree.

“My name is Captain Gordon Howard of USS Oberth,” he introduced himself in a bored manner. “I’ve been told to expect you.”

“Captain James Kirk,” said Jim, equally as perfunctorily. “We’re under orders from Admiral Parrl to assist in any way we can.”

“If you’ll permit me to beam aboard, Captain, I would be happy to debrief you.”

Jim hesitated for a split second before saying, “Agreed. Helm, drop shields and prepare to beam Captain Howard aboard.” He stared at the Oberth’s captain, “I would be happy to welcome you aboard the Enterprise.” Jim’s eyes were like pieces of chipped ice. “Kirk out.”

When the viewscreen returned to its panorama of stars and black space, Jim stood up and moved to the turbolift.

“Jim--” began Dr. McCoy.

“Bones, Spock, with me. Mr. Sulu, you have the conn.” The captain swept into the turbolift, his back ramrod straight and his face inscrutable.

They walked in silence to the transporter room, and Jim gave the ensign security officer manning the controls a perfunctory nod before settling at parade rest, his hands clasped behind his back, before the main transporter pad.

All of a sudden, the door slid open behind the trio, and McCoy and Spock caught sight of Lieutenant Hendorff entering, his face red as if he had been running. The captain ignored the intrusion and instead kept his full attention on the pad and the golden, shimmering swirls of coalescing particles that formed into Captain Howard and a tall Andorian female, presumably his first officer.

“Captain Howard, welcome aboard the Enterprise,” said Jim, though he made no move to hold out his hand when the visiting Captain stepped down from the transporter, ready to shake his.

Jim’s two commanding officers exchanged a quick look, but neither passed comment. Captain Howard withdrew his hand, looking slightly uncertain, and cleared his throat.

“Thank you for having me on board, Captain Kirk. May I first offer my sincere condolences for the passing of your mother; she was an exemplary officer, and the best geoscientist I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with.” 

“Thank you,” said Jim, his face unreadable, though his blue eyes were bright.

“It was a terrible accident, completely unexpected on a routine away mission. I still keep wondering if I could have prevented it somehow.” Howard shook his head remorsefully, and said, “When a captain loses a crew member… it never really leaves you, does it.”

“No, it doesn’t,” said Jim, softly. Off to one side, McCoy eyed his captain the way a volcanologist eyes a smoking volcano.

Howard indicated his companion. “This is Lieutenant Sozon, my science officer. She will pass along the research we have collected so far for your science teams…” Howard looked around him, “I’m guessing on a ship this size, you have several, am I right?”

“We are adequately staffed, Captain,” said Jim, noncommittally. He nodded in Spock’s direction, “This is Commander Spock, my first officer and head of scientific research. And this is Doctor McCoy, my chief medical officer.” Then, he turned to leave and caught sight of his security chief.

“Lieutenant, I don’t remember asking you here,” the captain’s eyes were flinty.

“I know, Captain, but I thought it would be best if I--”

“The captain and his science officer are members of Starfleet, Lieutenant, not a hostile alien force. Your presence is not required.”

“But Captain--”

“You’re dismissed, Lieutenant.” Jim’s voice was frosty, and Hendorff looked confused before pulling himself together and nodding curtly.

“My apologies, Captain Kirk.”

The captain swept imperiously past his security officer, whose face was almost as bright red as his shirt, and exited the room, Howard and Sozon trailing closely behind after the doctor indicated for them to do so.

Behind their guests, McCoy cast a panicked look at Spock and Hendorff, and silently mouthed, “What the hell was that?!” Hendorff shook his head, his eyes bewildered, but Spock only looked dispassionately in the direction his captain went, and moved quickly to follow.

When Jim started to act unpredictably, when the safety of the Enterprise and her crew were under threat, Spock’s overriding responsibility took precedence. It was something he had learned over the years - that his first duty was to stick close by his captain and keep him safe at any cost. The outcome of their futures depended upon James Tiberius Kirk doing what he did best, which was be himself.

However, at this time, Dr. McCoy was not happy with his captain’s behaviour, which was very out of character for his closest friend. Captain Kirk had led their guests to the largest conference room, the one usually reserved for top Starfleet personnel or Federation dignitaries. It was as if he was trying to not so subtly show Captain Howard the great might of the Enterprise; that it could, at any time, crush the Oberth like a bug. McCoy looked on with a frown on his face. He knew that Jim was playing his cards very close to his chest, and it was probably the most prudent thing not to come right out and accuse Howard of murdering members of his own crew, but at the same time, the doctor could not see what all this posturing was in aid of.

“Captain Howard, shall we get down to business?” Jim sat at the head of the dark, polished conference table, squared his shoulders and joined his hands loosely in front of him in a manner very reminiscent of Captain Pike.

“Sozon, if you could…” said Howard.

Jim glanced at Spock, who did not need any other indication to rise from his seat and usher the Andorian to the main viewscreen.

“Lieutenant, may I have your data chip?” inquired Spock in his deep voice. The Andorian twitched her antennae and smiled boldly, holding the data chip in her open palm so that Spock would have to take it from her. Like a bird delicately picking up a morsel of food, he plucked the chip out of her hand without touching her skin, and deftly inserted it into the viewscreen panel.

Sozon quirked her lips and brushed her bone-white hair from her shoulders, but remained undaunted. She continued to stand within the Vulcan’s personal space as he operated the screen panel and brought up the data. Presently, he turned back to the room and announced that the information was loaded.

With appraising eyes still trained on Spock, Sozon proceeded to explain. “Planet Theta-593, as we have classified it, supports extremely high levels of dilithium arranged in uniform strata. The piezoelectric effect caused by the material’s inherent structure allowed us to formulate a means of concentrating and harnessing its power.”

Howard took over and turned to Jim. “We started working with this premise and expanded it from there. As you can see from the charts, we’ve managed to double the energy increase output of a 30cm cubed specimen from what is normally required for, for example, a warp engine. I am convinced, however, that we can further compress the material for even greater results.” The older captain leaned forward in his seat, evidently very interested in expounding upon his research. “Exploring the properties and limitations of dilithium are kind of my speciality,” he volunteered.

“Where do the Romulans fit in?” asked Jim, bluntly, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh,” stuttered Howard, apparently derailed, “Well...the admiral, Admiral Parrl that is, approached me after he had read my dissertation on the analysis of efficient recursive multifold regulation on the thermal output of dilithium...” he petered off, as if this answered the question.

Jim smiled patiently, like a wolf, and after an awkward pause, Howard continued. “Um, I don’t know much, but from what I was told there’s some sort of splinter group that has broken off from Romulan High Command, and they’ve been soliciting for anyone who can help with their sun and its impending supernova.

“That’s all the information I have. I’m not very well-versed in intergalactic politics.” Howard attempted to push back under Jim’s scrutiny, “Look, Captain Kirk, I’m just here to do a job, as are you.”

Jim appeared to give this some thought, and then asked, “Is your whole crew working on this mission?”

Howard looked uncomfortable for a split second, but then he rallied, “Yes, of course. We’re a science vessel. And Admiral Parrl ordered that I put all the manpower I could spare onto this project.”

“Evidently not enough, since the admiral has asked us to step in,” said Jim.

“What do you want us to do?” asked McCoy, cutting the captain’s uncharacteristic belligerence short.

“Beam down to the surface tomorrow at 0800 hours. We’ll get started assigning your science teams to the various tasks I need help with.”

“Understood,” said the doctor, and he turned to his captain, “Now, if there’s nothing else to discuss perhaps we should let these good people get back to their ship.”

Jim nodded slowly and then rose from the table. “I’d like to hear more about my mother’s time on your ship, Captain,” he said, suddenly radiating warmth and familiarity. Howard was taken aback, but he smiled, seemingly genuinely pleased.

McCoy shook his head, a muscle working at his jaw, and he followed both captains closely out of the room.

Sozon took the opportunity to walk with Spock as he brought up the rear. “What is your full name? Mine is Sozon Sh’rhaalrath,” she said.

“My name is generally unpronounceable to non-Vulcans. You may refer to me as Spock,” he replied, dismissively. 

“Are you sure I couldn’t pronounce it? I’ve been told I have a very talented tongue.” She smiled up at him seductively.

“I am quite certain,” said Spock and quickened his pace. But Sozon was nothing if not persistent. She wove her arm around Spock’s, which caused him to stiffen visibly.

“I’m looking forward to working with you, Commander. I’ve heard of your diverse skills in a multitude of scientific disciplines and I am anxious to see them in action.”

Spock did not reply, and instead wore a vaguely uncomfortable expression all the way to the transporter room.

Once Captain Howard and Lieutenant Sozon had beamed back to their own ship, and the ensign manning the transporter pad had been dismissed, McCoy rounded on the captain. “Jim, what the hell kinda game are you trying to play, huh? What was the use of all of that goading, and why are you acting like the cheese has just slid off your cracker?”

Jim had dropped his facade and now looked equal parts tired, angry and sad. “I don’t know, Bones...I just…” he turned away from the doctor, visibly deflated, and then turned back. “Don’t ask me what I’m feeling, because I can’t--”

“It is evident that the captain was trying to elicit an emotional response from Captain Howard, in order to uncover the truth behind Lieutenant Commander Kirk’s untimely demise,” volunteered Spock. “I have often noticed that when humans are concealing some truth, unpredictable or antagonistic behaviour can cause them to, as you might say, ‘slip-up’.”

“Oh, you’re a xeno-anthropologist now, are you?” said McCoy, bitingly.

“I am merely attempting to make a logical deduction based on the captain’s feelings as well as our need to extract information from Captain Howard.”

“I don’t know how you can use words like ‘feelings’ and ‘extraction’ in the same sentence,” grumbled McCoy.

“I did not actually--”

“Okay, okay, you two!” Jim sighed exasperatedly, “I’m getting a headache!” He folded his arms and waited until they both turned their attention back to him.

“Let’s all just get some rest and we’ll figure it out in the morning,” he said, reasonably.

“Fine, I’ll just wait till you decide to go and do something crazy again, and then we’ll see who has to figure it out in the end,” McCoy grumbled.

“That’s why I have you and Spock, Bones!” Jim slapped the doctor hard on the arm and exited the transporter room, effectively ending the conversation. Raised eyebrows and a shake of the head from McCoy followed him out soon after.

Though it was Captain’s Orders that the command crew get some much needed rest before they faced whatever unknown threat or danger lay in store for them on planet Theta-593, Jim found himself unable to heed his own advice. He wandered the glowing corridors of the Enterprise, and stopped for a while to look out over the railing of her grand circulation lobby, which in her newest iteration had become even more glittery and spacious.

A couple of medical staff heading to Sickbay for their graveyard shift hurried by, and the usual few engineering red-shirts, continually scurrying about the ship on Scotty’s unending quest to keep the “ol’ girl shipshape and purrin’ like a kitten”, nodded to their captain before resuming their arcane tasks.

“Captain,” came a deep velvet voice behind him. Jim smiled instinctively and turned around to meet warm, chocolate brown eyes under sharply angled brows.

“Can’t sleep too, huh,” commented Jim.

“Actually, I was conducting an efficiency survey to ensure that the staffing rosters were functioning at their maximal value.”

“So...you couldn’t sleep.” Jim sighed and looked back out into the expanse of the ship’s central area. “What am I doing, Spock?” he asked after a while.

“If you are not asking rhetorically, I would say that you are biding your time and formulating a plan that will not only solve the various mysteries we have uncovered thus far, but that will protect the Enterprise and her crew. And you will do so with the utmost sense of moral certitude and finesse that we have all come to expect from you.” 

“You have a lot of faith in me, don’t you,” Jim gave a weak half-smile, and a dimple on his left cheek appeared.

“Naturally. You are my captain,” said Spock, with complete frankness. In the back of his mind, Jim began to feel a now familiar warmth suffusing his consciousness. He pushed himself off the railing and wandered down a random corridor, probing experimentally at the sensation in his brain. He heard Spock sigh softly as he followed closely in his wake.

They walked companionably in silence, and Jim felt the comforting hum of his ship reverberating through him as the Enterprise moved in standard orbit around the planet; all was stillness and peacefulness in the small hours of gamma shift, and a resolute calmness came over him. He knew instinctively that no matter what the future held for them, that what he was feeling at this moment was so undeniably...right, and like all those times as a boy when he gazed up at the deep, dark blue of the night sky over Iowa, and traced the cloudy arc of the Milky Way across the sky, he’d pick out one particularly bright star and mentally throw his will towards it with all his might, as if it alone would guide him out of that shithole town and his shithole life to greater things beyond.

And now here he was, Captain James Tiberius Kirk of the Starship Enterprise, with his first officer, loyalty proven multiple times over, by his side.

The backs of their hands touched, almost by accident, and the captain felt a fizz like static electricity jump against his skin. The attraction between them that had been simmering below the surface the entire time was growing almost palpable, and Jim stopped mid-perambulation and turned to look at Spock. His friend looked back, appearing for all the world like a calm island in the middle of a stormy ocean, or at least that was how Jim felt it, like he was hanging on for dear life to keep from being swept away.

Their mutual gaze grew intense, and the captain had to look away momentarily, though his face was already starting to flush from his forehead all the way down to his neck. The outpouring of mental warmth streaming into his mind was insistent, but it did not overwhelm him like it did the last time. Spock was obviously keeping a tight rein on himself. Jim’s eyes wandered back to his first officer’s handsome, serious face, in spite of himself. 

“Captain,” the Vulcan’s voice was impossibly deep and gravelly, “I find I require your immediate attention.” And it was all Jim could do to tear his gaze away from where they had settled on Spock’s lips and flash of teeth as he spoke, to look back into deep, almost black, eyes.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Spock?” Jim’s voice was breathless, he throat suddenly dry.

Spock stepped into Jim’s personal space and grabbed his forearm. Walking him backwards, they narrowly missed colliding with a door frame. Instead, the Vulcan steered Jim through the door that opened with a soft hiss, and snicked closed behind them. It was but the work of a moment to engage the lock, and only one more for Spock to grab the back of Jim’s head and a fistful of blond hair, and pull so their lips collided, tongues snaking out and dancing, diving hungrily into each other’s mouths. Jim’s eager cry was swallowed up by Spock’s full, soft lips closing hot and moist over his own.

They had sequestered themselves in a small meeting room, and Spock had Jim backed up onto the table so that his ass hit the edge of the polished surface. Pushing in ever more insistently, the captain soon found himself sprawled on his back on the table with Spock’s chest pinning him down. He gasped, his arousal suddenly bourgeoning to new heights as he felt a hard, hot bulge firm against his own rising need.

Spock ground into him, pistoning his hips, rubbing himself like some deranged animal in heat against his groin, increasing the friction of their uniform pants and underwear fabric on already sensitized skin. Jim wrapped one arm around his lover’s… he supposed he could finally claim Spock as such… shoulders as his other hand shifted lower to grab at an ass cheek. He pulled him closer still, his own hips starting up their own lewd rhythm. They were rutting against each other, rubbing their erections together, and if they weren’t careful, the captain was going to cum in his pants like a horny teenager. Since their last interlude had ended rather unfortunately in an argument, Jim’s curtailed orgasm wasn’t going to waste another opportunity.

However, after a few moments of heavy petting, where Spock had worked his way to his throat and was proceeding to leave a sizable hickey that would make Jim thankful for the high collars of the uniform, the unwelcome and adult voice of reason began to cut through the thick fog of his lust. Jim rather ineffectually tried to pull away from Spock’s searing lips and heated hands that were like brands on his skin...when had the Vulcan managed to push his shirt up around his chest, anyway? But found he could not resist those ardent kisses, equal parts tender and insistent.

“Spock…” Jim tried again, speaking around a very enthusiastic tongue, “Spock, mmhf...stop, stop!” With effort, they broke apart. The glow coursing through his brain had not ebbed, but instead seemed to take on an anxious edge. Jim likened it to an eager puppy that had just been told to sit, stay...good boy!

“Spock, if we keep doing this, I don’t know how much more I’m gonna be able to--”

“I am aware of that, Jim, and have formulated a plan,” rejoined Spock.

“Plan? What plan?” Jim’s confused frown changed suddenly to shock, and bright blue eyes wide with surprise met crafty, deep brown ones as Spock’s ever nimble fingers snapped open and unzipped the captain’s dark charcoal pants. With one smooth movement, he reached in and freed Jim’s hard, weeping cock from its confines and palmed it in his hand.

“Oh my god,” breathed Jim, scrabbling at Spock’s shoulders, “Shouldn’t we go--”

“Our quarters are five decks and two and a half corridors away, Captain. Would you like me to desist?”

“N...no,” gasped Jim, his mouth hanging open.

“I did not think so,” concluded Spock, and his long fingers ceased their ministrations on Jim’s cock just long enough to grab the waistline of his pants and underwear and pull them down past his thighs.

“Holy shiii--” exclaimed Jim, and then he lost his voice when the Vulcan bent over, dipped his head and swallowed the length of him.

Jim’s hands carded through thick, black hair, messing up that pristine mop, and he canted one knee up to allow Spock greater access to his scrotum and the underside of his thigh, which the other man duly took advantage of, massaging the corded muscles of Jim’s adductors and hamstrings, and tickling the delicate skin and downy hair of his balls.

Spock’s left hand wrapped around Jim’s straining member and he pulled back the foreskin, exposing almost fully the head of his penis which he sucked rapaciously on, the flat of his tongue moving against the sensitive frenulum, sending jolts of pleasure up Jim’s spine.

As before, the Vulcan’s impeccable technique of knowing exactly where all of Jim’s most sensitive spots were had the captain panting and dancing on a razor’s edge. He squirmed under Spock’s attention and cried out when, fingers slick with saliva and pre-cum that had dripped down the length of his cock, Spock massaged his perineum and then probed lower still to settle on his tight, dusty pink, puckered asshole. He touched his middle fingertip teasingly to the entrance, almost experimentally, tap, swirl, tap, swirl, and Jim groaned out loud and lifted his hips off the table, silently pleading for more forceful contact.

Spock graciously obliged, and slid his finger in, breaching the tight ring of muscle that clamped tight around the digit as a wave of pleasure swept through Jim. “Aah, Spock,” he moaned, as Spock worked his finger in and out, “...more…please, more...”

Sliding almost all the way out, Spock’s index finger joined his middle one, and they reentered Jim’s anus, which seemed to draw them greedily in; so tight was its grip that the petal pink inner walls were exposed briefly, lubricated and glistening, as the Vulcan withdrew his fingers, only to disappear as he pushed back in. The captain’s hands tightened their grip on ebony hair as two slicked and strong fingers started to piston in and out of him, and Spock’s mouth and tongue continued their glorious assault on his cock. His whole body focused on the wet heat engulfing the shaft and engorged head, the delicious friction working relentlessly on his ass, and when Spock crooked his fingers and the tips of his fingers pressed repeatedly against the fleshy pad on the front wall of his rectum, Jim keened high in his throat, tipped over the edge, and started to cum.

Seminal fluid, hot and slightly starchy-salty, shot into Spock’s hungry mouth, and he breathed into Jim’s curls of pubic hair as he swallowed it all down.

Unbeknownst to the other man, caught in the throes of mounting orgasm, Spock had removed his right hand from where it had gripped Jim’s inner thigh, and clamped it tight around his own balls and the base of his penis as the captain was cumming.

But as the shuddering throes of Jim’s orgasm died away, and Spock moved up to kiss him, lips and tongue tasting of his seed, he stroked the Vulcan through his tented pants. “Now it’s your turn,” he murmured, kissing the side of Spock’s mouth and cheek.

“That is unnecessary, I am fulfilled,” Spock replied, a tad unconvincingly.

“Bullshit! No one’s mental discipline is  _ that _ good, Spock, come on!” protested Jim.

“Jim, my loss of control--”

“--Is something I’m going to have to deal with,” completed Jim, and brooking no more protestations, he bodily shoved his friend back and rose off the conference table, pulling his pants up so they hung loosely off his defined hips and hooked around the curve of his bum. Dropping to his knees, Jim made quick work of the same uniform slacks, pulling Spock’s penis out almost perfunctorily, and only stopping for a moment to admire its thick, emerald coloured girth, the pronounced ridges, and the bulbous head, shiny with a copious amount of pre-cum.

Spock was flustered, and attempted to restrain the other man, but when the captain decided to be single minded about something, there was very little that could stop him. He wrapped his hands and his lips around Spock’s engorged, straining member, savoured the soft, velvety texture, and jerked and sucked expertly, once, twice, three times. With a strangled groan, the Vulcan was coming in his mouth, shooting hot, thick streams of cum down the back of Jim’s throat.

In that same moment, a spike of searing heat intruded painfully behind Jim’s eyes, but he breathed through the disorientation and focused on swallowing the whole of Spock’s effusion down to the last drop. He felt the Vulcan tense above him, and he gripped the sides of his lover’s legs in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

In the aftermath, Jim closed his eyes, still kneeling, his forehead resting on Spock’s thigh. He felt his friend’s hands stroking the back of his skull, fingertips delicately tracing the round shell of his ears. Spock’s cum, impossibly perfect like the rest of him, tasted extremely pleasant, almost sweet, and Jim longed to spend the rest of the night with his face buried in the clean, musky scent of him.

Through the ever-present hum of the Enterprise’s engines, he slowly became aware of a whispered murmuring, but he could not make out the words though he tried. Eventually however, he distinguished Spock’s voice through the static.

“Jim, did I hurt you?” Spock asked.

Jim shook his head, and sat gingerly back on his haunches, suddenly too tired to ask about the ghost voices, which he figured were probably the result of some sort of telepathic transference. His head was throbbing in the wake of Spock’s emotional waterfall. He looked up at his first officer, who was tucking himself back into his pants and generally tidying up, studying him. “I know,” he began, “you said you didn’t want to mind meld with me because you’re afraid that if we ended up bonding you might lose the choice to decide your future, and I know I said all this could wait till after we got to the bottom of this Romulan-dilithium-murder mess…”

Spock stopped what he was doing, looked seriously at him, then said, “Jim, it is inadvisable to pursue that which we do not know. It is my duty as your first officer to give counsel on the wisest course of action possible, and to safeguard against imprudent decisions or choices that might compromise the safety of both you and the ship.”

Jim huffed exasperatedly and climbed to his feet, “I know that, Spock! I have no idea what I’m supposed to do! But I sure as hell would rather take that leap of faith knowing you’re with me...really with me, to the end.” He stared intensely at Spock, “Look, all I know is that I want...is that I  _ need _ you by my side.”

Jim did up his pants haphazardly and smoothed a hand through his hair. “All that we’ve been through in the last few days, I can’t go backwards...it’s not enough anymore,” He reached out and grabbed Spock’s wrist as the Vulcan sought to turn away, “...it’s not enough to just be your friend anymore, Spock.”

Perversely however, Jim recalled another conversation similar to this as he took in Spock’s intractable expression, when he was going after Khan despite Spock’s strong reservations to the contrary. And look what happened in the end...Marcus was about to blow them all to kingdom come, the Enterprise was compromised, and he...he actually died! Now, he was asking - trying to convince - Spock of what...to give up a prospective future, or possibly render his captain a vegetable if the meld went wrong, or tie them together forever when most of their lives and careers were still ahead of them...could he put his closest friend, and now, lover, through all that? Really? Weren’t these just his own selfish desires and fears taking unfair precedence?

“I’m sorry,” Jim let go of Spock suddenly. “You’re right; you’re always right. I wasn’t thinking straight.” He slumped against the table in defeat, eyes downcast.

After what felt like an age, Spock came up to him and reached out, tentatively, grasping his biceps and then sliding his hands slowly up to his shoulders.

“No, Jim, in this instance I might be the one in error.” Spock looked deep into his captain’s ridiculously blue eyes, and studied his serious, beautiful face with its strong brows, high cheekbones and pronounced philtrum over kiss-swollen lips.

“I am reminded of when the seed of the bond was first planted, and of the profound and inexplicable anger I felt when I thought I had lost you. Perhaps, this is kaiidth. We have been brought together for a reason.

“I was given some advice once, a long time ago.  _ Find that person who seems farthest from you and reach for them. Reach for them. Let them guide you _ …” The fingers of Spock’s right hand settled, feather light, on the psionic points of Jim’s face, and Jim’s eyes widened in dawning comprehension.

“Wait, Spock, are you sure?” he could not conceal the tremor in his voice.

“I have never been more sure,” whispered Spock, “Taluk nash-veh k’dular.” He wrapped the fingers of his other hand around the nape of Jim’s neck, and caressed the short hairs there.

“Nahp, hif-bi tu throks. My mind to your mind. Your thoughts to my thoughts.”

“What...what do I do?” asked Jim, licking his lips nervously. His hands came up to lightly grasp Spock’s wrists, more for reassurance than any desire to restrain.

“Open your mind to me.”

Jim closed his eyes and waited expectantly, nervously, the echo of the headache and its potential return worrying his gut. But the aggressive heat did not return. Instead, the buzzing warmth that had been at the back of his mind the entire time they were having their tryst, expanded and unfolded like a flower turning to greet the summer sun. More assuredly than anything he had ever felt in his life, Jim felt Spock’s presence flow into his mind, and he knew it. He felt his own...katra...rise up to greet him - a clear, watery blue, like ocean waters shot through with rays of sunlight - a golden sunlight that streamed through him.

Images, tactile emotions, seemingly at random, filtered into Jim’s mind - the blinking lights of a starship station console; the smell of concrete and green grass - the Academy; slender, delicate fingers; luminous, large brown eyes; a floral perfume - Nyota; then, airy rooms with warm wooden pillars; slats across a large, curved window that looked out onto an arid desertscape - a place Jim did not know; a feeling of companionship, an older, guiding presence, and juxtaposed directly with that, a feeling of...forgiveness; a powerful but silent figure, standing tall and just out of view; a long, cool, corridor; a railing; soft, gentle hands adjusting and smoothing a collar; the cocooning comfort of...mother; a yawning emptiness, swirling, combining with what looked like sparkling transporter particles; sudden, wrenching...loss; deep, deep, sadness, like diving into a pitch black bottomless lake, its icy waters closing over Jim’s head, sinking, drowning…

Jim must have gasped for air, or weakened at the knees, because on some sort of outside, as if his body was only a covering shell, he felt a strong, warm hand move down his back to support him. Then, a petal-like softness brushed his lips, and the flush that suffused his whole face lifted him up, broadened in his mindscape and he felt buoyed on...pink bubbles; joy; the burbling excitement of new discovery. Was this Spock? Jim found himself wondering...and then, he felt himself - blue, brilliant, bright blue, and gold; capriciousness, uncertainty, anticipation, loyalty - oh, such strength of loyalty; a friend, a brother,  _ t’hy’la _ .

Like the feeling of infinite satisfaction when the last piece of the puzzle drops into place, or when the correct key fits the keyhole and turns the lock, Jim tied his soul to Spock’s, and the two inexorably joined to become one.

They emerged out of the meld together, floating slowly up to surface consciousness like air bubbles rising through thick syrup. Jim’s eyelids fluttered open and he found himself staring at Spock’s long, dusky eyelashes. Familiar lips were warm and soft on his own, and firm fingertips lay, still gently affixed to his forehead, cheekbone and chin. He squeezed Spock’s wrist, and the Vulcan released him with a sigh, opening his large brown eyes as he did so.

“So, what now?” asked Jim, his voice croaking from the dryness in his throat. “Damn, it felt...good.”

_ We continue as we always have, Jim, albeit with some added attributes. _

“Shit!” Jim swore, eyes wide, “Are you...are you talking to me through my brain right now?”

“A rather inelegant way of describing it, Captain,” said Spock, out loud. “A piece of my katra remains within you, and as a result, we are telepathically linked.”

“Oh,” Jim’s mind raced, “So...we’ll be able to hear each other’s thoughts from now on, then?”

“If you are concerned about a loss of privacy, though it is true that we have removed the normal barriers inherent to an individual, it does not mean uncontrolled access to your mind. It is more akin to a door that is now unlocked. Though no longer barred, it can still be closed.”

“How?” asked Jim.

“I continue to maintain my mental shielding, and I will teach you to do the same.”

“Then I’m not going to randomly hear or feel your...you know...when you and Uhura,” Jim stopped and blushed to the roots of his hair.

“Not unless I deem it so, Captain.” Was that a smirk on Spock’s placid face? The captain went fully red, and flushed down past his neck.

“Oh...god…” he muttered, “what would Bones say?”

“Indeed,” Spock raised an eyebrow and inclined his head towards the door. “It may be prudent to expose the good doctor to these new developments slowly over time, as one spoonfeeds a child.”

“Don’t insult him when he’s not here to defend himself, Spock, that’s not nice,” but Jim’s eyes filled with laughter, a ripple of pure enjoyment effervescing within his chest.

They left the meeting room, Spock first looking around to check that no telltale marks had been left on the glossy table surface, and took the turbolift up to their quarters. The hallway was empty, and Jim grinned widely to himself when Spock did not repair to his own room, but instead followed Jim into his.

* * *

The room was still and dark, and cooler than he was used to. Spock opened his eyes, two pools of blackness against the enclosing gloom, and turned his head. A shock of messy hair, reflecting what little starlight glimmered through the curved window, rested close by on the adjacent pillow. Deep, even breaths and an almost snore issued forth from the sleeping form, and he raised one arm carefully and slowly from under the covers, to rest one outstretched hand on the tousled locks.

He lowered his shields a modicum, and their joint mindscape seeped into his thoughts. Bursts of vivid colour, a strong smell of autumnal leaves and the dusty, bitter smell of ice over a turbid river, intruded into Spock’s senses. Jim’s compelling sanctuary, unshielded and laid bare as he did not yet know how to modulate his gifted telepathy, made the half-Vulcan smile.

From his internal clock, Spock could tell that it was close to 0630 hours. He eased himself out of bed - Jim sighed and turned over, but slept on - and retrieved his clothing from where he had folded them on Jim’s couch a few hours before. Dressing silently, he borrowed Jim’s sink and towel to freshen up, and at the last moment, he stood by the bed and watched the still slumbering figure.

_ Taluk nash-veh k’dular, ashayam _ , he cast into the bondspace, and was rewarded with Jim muttering in his sleep, “love you...babe…” He briefly entertained the thought of what sort of look the captain would have on his face if Spock told him what he had unknowingly said. Then he turned, and like a cat, walked across the room and slipped soundlessly out through the door.

The lights in the corridor were cold and bright, and Spock squinted, momentarily blinded.

“Spock!” called a melodic voice.

He turned and caught sight of a svelte figure in a short red uniform dress, high ponytail cascading like a black silken waterfall down a slender back, waiting in front of the door to his quarters. He walked up, bent and kissed her fondly on the cheek. “Good morning, Nyota.”

“Spock,” Nyota had a knowing look in her fawn-like brown eyes, “Did I just see what I saw?”

“I would ask you to elucidate, Nyota, but I fear that would detract from your enjoyment of the moment.”

“You tease,” she giggled. “Okay, fine, I’ll bite. Did I just see you coming out of the captain’s stateroom?”

“Yes, you did,” said Spock, deadpan. He punched in the code to his door and it slid open, releasing a rush of warm air into the corridor. Nyota hummed a little tune as she stepped past Spock and into the shadowy warmth of his rooms.

When the door closed, she rounded on him, the look on her face equal parts curiosity and apprehension. “How are you feeling? How is the captain?” she asked.

Spock made a beeline for the bathroom and removed his soiled uniform, placing it in the laundry processor. He stepped into the shower stall and activated the sonic before answering thoughtfully, “I am functioning adequately…” he paused for a moment to think, “Given some consideration, I am remarkably well. Though, I admit I continue to have certain reservations regarding the most recent developments between the captain and myself.”

Nyota was dying to find out exactly what those most recent developments were, but she was forced to wait till Spock finished his shower and donned a fresh uniform. They sat facing each other on his small couch, the meditation session that Nyota had originally come for postponed in favour of a heart to heart.

Spock noticed that she was exuding a sort of nervous energy, and extended his hand to her, grasping her delicate fingers gently in his. Through their touch, he pushed forward comfort and reassurance, and she smiled softly, familiar with his deeply caring actions.

He opened his mouth, uncertain where to begin, shut it, took a breath and then tried again, “Nyota, you are aware of my prior and even continuing concerns regarding developing a relationship with the captain that moves beyond one that is strictly professional.”

“Spock, you and Kirk left professional in the dust a long time ago, if we’re being honest,” said Nyota, looking at her boyfriend skeptically.

“Point taken,” conceded Spock. “The captain...Jim...and I, have come to a consensus regarding our mutual feelings for each other. Though it was not without some initial setbacks, we have managed to reach a satisfactory conclusion.”

Nyota shook her head, amused and irritated by turns. Spock could make the most ardent love poetry sound like he was reading off a manual for a warp coil. “Is that the extent of it?” she asked, expecting nothing further other than more carefully constructed wordplay that dodged the crux of the subject.

Spock was often confounded by the expectations of his human girlfriend when it came to expressing his emotions - something that he kept deeply private, even from her. However, in an effort to please Nyota, he occasionally stepped deliberately out of his comfort zone and attempted to modulate his offtimes dry and dispassionate relaying of the facts in favour of being more...feeling.

“Jim and I...made love. And in a most eloquent manner, he convinced me to...take a chance; a leap of faith, as it were. With him, it is always shan’hal’lak.” Spock glanced down and spoke almost under his breath, as if to himself, “Parted from me and never parted, never and always touching and touched.”

He looked up at his girlfriend, whose eyes had become wide with surprise, “That is the Vulcan marriage vow as spoken by the males of our species. Our minds became one, and now all that I am, is his; all that he is, is mine. He has become my tel-su, and in that moment, I came to realize he is my t’hy’la.”

“Oh, Spock,” she murmured, her eyes suddenly bright with tears.

“Nyota…” Spock panicked, unsure what to do or say. “This does not mean I hold you in any less regard than previously. You have been the catalyst which enabled this most precious discovery. You are important to me, Tishau nash-veh, Nyota…” he petered off, squeezing her hands.

“I know, my darling, I know,” Nyota reassured him, but her heart was full to bursting, and her mind was swimming with a dozen conflicting emotions. The confession, though ultimately expected, even though she had explicitly encouraged it, was still a blow to her passionate and possessive heart.

“Perhaps,” she sob-laughed, “perhaps I’d prefer you to sound like a robot when you’re talking about your relationship with Kirk,”

She gave a watery smile, “I can’t go back on my word now, can I?” Her voice still full of tears, Nyota realized unequivocally that sometimes, life chose them, and not the other way around.

Spock leaned forward and kissed her gently and lingeringly on the mouth. “The future is an uncertain reality,” he said softly, “but I trust...I would very much prefer...to face it together with you and Jim by my side.”

Nyota closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against Spock’s. “Of course. I promise.”

At ten minutes to the start of alpha shift, Spock’s door chime sounded and the portal slid back to reveal the captain, freshly showered, prince charming hairstyle combed in place, blue eyes bright and gold uniform impeccable.

“Uhura!” Jim exclaimed, catching sight of her immediately, and he glanced up at Spock, suddenly nervous.

“Good morning, Captain,” said the lieutenant, coolly, obviously enjoying her superior’s fluster, and moved past him out into the corridor. “You’re looking handsome this morning,” she teased.

“Uh...thank you?” Jim’s puzzled expression switched quickly to one of affected suavity. “You’re looking exceptionally lovely yourself, Lieutenant, would you care to--”

“Can your pleasantries, Captain, I’m on to you.” Uhura said flatly, “Besides, you don’t have time for that right now.”

“Right.” Jim turned to Spock, who had appeared silently by his side. “Shall we?” and he waved his hand in the general direction of the transporter rooms.

Uhura reached up on tip-toe and kissed Spock tenderly. “Be careful down there, I’ll be monitoring your frequency.”

“Hey, what about me?” asked Jim, grinning without a trace of self consciousness, and he was caught completely off-guard when, after a roll of her eyes, Uhura leaned on his shoulder, pulled him down and kissed him soundly on the cheek.

“You too. Take care of each other,” and she walked away down the corridor towards the bridge, ponytail swishing prettily from side to side.

As they made their way to the transporter room, Jim tentatively broached the subject that was on his mind. “So...how did Uhura take it? I’m guessing you guys talked...about us.”

“She is, as always, a paragon of generosity and understanding.” replied Spock.

“And she knows everything? Even the…” and he wiggled his fingers at his head.

“I trust her implicitly and have full confidence in her discretion, Jim.”

“I didn’t mean to insinuate she wasn’t trustworthy, Spock, but sometimes ladies can be a little...you know...touchy,” said Jim, dubiously.

“If you mean to imply that she is jealous, I have not encountered any evidence of it.” The Vulcan inclined his head towards Jim, his face serious.  _ I love her, Jim, as I love you. Nyota knows this. _

“Shit, you don’t pull your punches, do you!” breathed the captain, blushing.

“Embarrassed, Captain? I had assumed humans in the 23rd Century had evolved beyond placing such antiquated limitations upon themselves.”

Chastised, Jim said nothing more till they met Scotty, Hendorff and three of Spock’s science team leads in the transporter room. The security chief nodded to the captain, unable to meet him in the eye.

Jim walked up to him, and said, “Lieutenant Hendorff, I’m sorry for my behaviour yesterday. It was uncalled for.”

“No, Captain, I was the one who presumed--” began Hendorff.

“You were only doing what was right, for the ship, and the crew’s safety. I’m grateful for that.” Jim reached out and gripped the other man briefly on the arm, then turned to the ensign manning the transporter console, indicating a readiness to beam down. His assembled staff stepped up onto the transporter pad, which was brightly lit up from floor to ceiling and humming with energy, and arranged themselves in regular formation around him.

“Energize,” said Jim, and he glanced over at Spock as dematerialization commenced in swirls of golden sparks, and took comfort in the steady, brown eyes looking back at him through the scintillating cloud.

A rumble in the distance greeted them as they materialized on the surface of the planet, just outside what Jim knew was the entrance to the dilithium mining facility. It was all too familiar, and Jim had to resist the urge to tense up and draw his phaser.

“Welcome to planet Theta-593, Captain Kirk,” Captain Howard stepped forward from the group of assorted individuals who had evidently been waiting for them nearby. Among the group were two Romulans, dark and imposing in stiff, matte grey uniforms. The older one was impressively battle-scarred, and had what looked like an ornate ceremonial sword strapped to his hip. Beside him, Jim could both physically and mentally feel Spock stiffen. The planet rumbled again, ominously.

“Don’t mind the geological instability. This planet is rife with it due to the naturally occurring dilithium structures exacerbating the tectonic stresses on the substrata.” Howard was disconcertingly blasé.

Jim looked around him, feigning unfamiliarity. “So, is there some sort of facility or laboratory around here?”

“Right ahead of you,” the other captain was smug.

Jim looked at Spock, who glanced at Hendorff. Scotty stood, nervous and sweating slightly in the oppressive heat, jigging from one foot to the other. “Huh. Some sort of cloaking technology, then?” said the captain after a pause.

“Impressive deduction,” observed Howard. “Come, the entrance is this way.” And he led both groups, the individuals in each eyeing the other up, seemingly off into the empty landscape. There was a flicker, a minute quavering in the surrounding background, and then everyone disappeared from view.

The sparse vegetation waved sluggishly in the hot breeze, as over a red dawning sky, storm clouds like blood stains spilled over the horizon. There was a muted explosion that cracked and split the stillness, the only sound in that barren place, far into the distance. The planet held its secrets close even as interlopers invaded its underbelly, and dug deep for the physical manifestations of power and dominance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter seven title is from Shakespeare's Henry VI part II
> 
> Vulcan translations taken from the Vulcan Language Dictionary:  
Taluk nash-veh k’dular = I cherish thee  
Nahp, hif-bi tu throks = opening words when initiating a mind-meld "Give me your thoughts"  
shan’hal’lak = emotional engulfment (in love)  
Tishau nash-veh = I care for you (deep feeling)
> 
> Nyota and Spock's conversation was important to highlight that their relationship has not been compromised, but rather changed. Polyamory to me is not so much necessarily sex with multiple people, but forming a deep, loving connection with multiple people. I wanted to juxtapose that deeply connecting conversation to Jim's rather stereotypical comment about Nyota being jealous or touchy, a comment that Spock quickly chastised him for as being out-of-date.
> 
> Thoughts, comments, discussion? Please feel free to let me know! And as always, I can be found on Twitter @fauxrugged


	8. Come what may, time and hour run through the roughest day

Captain Howard led the Enterprise team further into the complex than they had originally been able to go, to some deep, subterranean command centre. The Romulans and Howard's personnel following close behind.

“This is quite the setup ye got here, Capt’n Howard,” said Scotty, conversationally.

“Oh, it’s been quite an endeavour, I can tell you…” Howard glanced over at Jim, who was affecting an air of disinterestedness. “But...I only got transferred to this project fairly recently, so I am not sure of all the specifics.”

Lieutenant Sozon had zoned in on Spock the moment he beamed down, and was monopolizing his attention. “Are those men the extent of your science team, Commander?” she asked, conversationally.

“Negative, Lieutenant. They are three of my team leaders from the various laboratories aboard the Enterprise,” Spock answered dryly.

“I’m sure your laboratories are very large and impressive,” she smirked.

“No, they are normally sized laboratories.” Behind Spock, his personnel tried hard not to laugh.

There was a bare but otherwise functional conference room off of the command centre, and Captain Howard convened the meeting there, to outline the duties that the Enterprise crew would be helping to undertake.

Spock had managed to extricate himself from the lieutenant, who had been tasked with escorting Scotty to another part of the facility to show him some apparatus that they were adapting from strange Romulan design. The commander stood close by his captain, almost touching shoulders, and ostensibly appeared to be listening to the conversation between the two captains while his eyes periodically looked around the room, taking in the other participants.

Predictably, the two Romulans caught Spock’s attention the most. As a young Vulcan, he had been taught the whole of the joint ancestry of the two related species, at least from the viewpoint of Vulcan. He had been taught that Romulans had rejected the teachings of Surak and were exiled to an existence without the peace and grace of logic, were relegated to a never ending cycle of war and chaos caused by their violent and primitive nature, and were also rendered psi-null. Essentially, they were _ those who had lost their way _ .

There was a deeply ingrained prejudice which ran through both cultures toward each other, though the physical similarities of each species were blatantly obvious - the pronounced Romulan brow ridges notwithstanding. Spock could feel the animosity radiating off the older, scarred Romulan, and to a lesser extent the younger one, like spikes of white hot ice flung in his direction. He was fascinated nonetheless, because other than his close encounters with Nero and his crew, the self-imposed isolationist policies of the Romulan Empire had essentially closed off that sector following the end of the Earth-Romulan war in 2160.

It was easy to imagine the one known as tr’Chelok having a lot of experience with war and conflict, as his features were clearly battle-hardened and his posture was one of a seasoned leader. Spock’s gaze drifted to the sword that hung from a studded belt at the Romulan’s left hip, its curved shape like one of those ancient Earth scimitars evident from its sheath. The hilt from pommel to crossguard was beautifully decorated with sharp, ornate swirls reminiscent of a bird of prey’s flight feathers, and raised ribbing seemed to continue down the length of the blade, disappearing into the scabbard. It was worn in areas, like it had been gripped many times in battle. A heavily patina’d disruptor, shiny with use and careful cleaning, hung from his other hip.

The younger Romulan, called simply Neral, with no rank or even gender signifier, radiating the fussy, pedantic air of clerks and assistants the universe over, caught Spock’s curious gaze and stared back at him with eyes narrowed suspiciously. Unfazed, the Vulcan calmly turned his attention back to the conversation in front of him.

“Commander Spock will see to the team assignments, Captain, and we will start beaming people down to the surface at 0800 hours tomorrow.” Spock caught Jim saying.

“I can’t stress enough the time crunch we are under, Captain Kirk,” Howard seemed a bit put out.

“Their sun isn’t going to blow up for another, oh, 124 years, Captain,” said Jim, glibly. “This is the stuff of your life’s work and research, isn’t it? You should take the time to enjoy it!” And in characteristic Jim Kirk fashion, the younger man laughed and slapped the other captain on the back familiarly. Caught off-guard by his aggressive charm, Howard could only stare after the tall, handsome figure as Jim walked off to explore the rest of the facility. While turning to follow his captain, the pointed look that passed between Howard and tr’Chelok behind Jim’s back was not lost on Spock.

tr’Chelok and Neral hung back as the others left the meeting room. The older Romulan was not happy, and his expressive face was dark as a thundercloud.

“What is the meaning of Parrl sending the same rats who broke in before?” he glowered in the direction Jim and the others had gone.

“I cannot say; humans are an extremely perplexing species,” replied his assistant.

“That Starfleet dog disabled one of our ships. It was Parrl’s responsibility to take care of the problem, not bring it to our doorstep.” tr’Chelok gripped the pommel of his sword. “Contact the Vice-Chairman. We need to report this.”

“Affirmative Major, right away.” Neral made some notes on his PADD.

“And that fool, Howard...he is a like a clever pig that ruins all the grain,” tr’Chelok drummed his fingers on his sword hilt. “Dealing with all these humans is turning my stomach.”

“We should leave before we are missed,” said Neral.

“Pandering to Federation dogs…” tr’Chelok snarled.

On silent feet, moving out of a security camera blind spot and catching up to the captains, Spock rejoined the group as if he had never left.

Jim convened a meeting when they returned to the ship. The glamour of starship captains was overrated, he mused. Between the short, sharp bursts of oh-my-god-we’re-gonna-die moments were long stretches of logs, the ever present hateful paperwork, and logistical meetings. A well executed meeting was like a council of war, however, and Jim had learned through hard won experience that his officers were his best weapons.

He was patently aware of the potential threat of danger his ship and his crew were under, and so led with, “I want to know exactly what we’re dealing with here, starting with your thoughts on Parrl.” Jim looked at members of his assembled command team, gathered around a table. Spock, McCoy and Scotty looked back at him.

“In my opinion, Jim, butter wouldn’t melt in that admiral’s mouth. He gives me the creeps and I don’t trust him.” growled McCoy. Jim nodded in agreement.

ain, after the meeting with Captain Howard ended, I overheard some information that leads me to believe that Admiral Parrl is not who he seems to be,” said Spock.

“Enlighten us, Mr. Spock,” Jim sat back in his chair.

“The two Romulans, tr’Chelok and his assistant Neral, were speaking in confidence, and it seems that the admiral was aware of the fact that we were on this planet  _ before _ we told him about it. I surmise that tr’Chelok contacted Parrl, told him about our presence on the planet and--”

“Parrl intercepted our transmission bound for Starfleet Command,” finished Jim. “But tr’Chelok wouldn’t know our identity, being Romulan. How did Parrl identify us to know to put himself in our path…” Jim’s eyes widened as he recalled, “Robson!”

“Yes, it seems likely that identifying the crewman’s remains were a direct means of confirming that we were the ones on the planet,” said Spock.

“All it would take is matching his face and DNA records to the Starfleet personnel registries,” McCoy corroborated.

“Ach, that puir bastard,” said Scotty, shaking his head. “Did Parrl order the attack on the Enterprise, then?” he asked.

“Unlikely,” said Spock. “The Romulan attack would not have been Parrl’s solution, as the flagship of Starfleet being ambushed by Romlan warbirds would incite all out war. It is probable, actually highly likely, that the Romulans chose to come after us themselves in order to try and destroy us.”

“Parrl’s hand may have been forced; we may not actually be as welcome as we’ve been led to believe in this mission of his.” Jim looked out the window where he could see the planet turning lazily past them.

“Wait a goddamn minute,” interjected McCoy, “are you saying you think he’s an imposter, Jim? Like some wolf in sheep’s clothing?”

“No…” Jim raised a hand to his chin, “No, he seems like a genuine Starfleet admiral.” His serious brows knotted themselves into a frown. “You know, we were worried that our information about the planet and the Romulans would alert a rogue element within Starfleet, but what if…” they waited for him to elaborate with bated breath.

Jim continued, still looking out of the window, talking almost to himself. “What my mother found out and her subsequent murder implicates Howard, but there’s obviously something bigger at play here that he’s covering up. It’s more like he’s working for…wait...this feels like...Marcus...” He turned away from the view and glanced around at his officers, his face suddenly stony and his eyes cold with anger, “Section 31.”

“Oh, this is bad, Jim, this is very bad,” McCoy looked thunderous and nervous at the same time.

“Are ye sure, Capt’n?” asked Scotty, and the other three men stared at him. The chief engineer held up his hands in placation, “I’m no’ doubting ye, Sir, but if it  _ is _ tha’ shady operation, it’s a whole other kettle o’ fish.”

“Tell me about it,” Jim said through gritted teeth. “What’s our game plan?”

“Weel, the pretty blue lieutenant was showin’ me a whole lotta tech, Jim, there’s gotta be sommat we can use there,” suggested Scotty.

“It seems logical to use our position to our advantage, Captain. If we split the teams up strategically, we can endeavor to collect concrete evidence that ties Lieutenant Commander Kirk’s murder to not just Captain Howard, but Admiral Parrl as well,” proposed Spock.

“Agreed. Mr. Spock, implement the rosters how you see fit, and distribute security detail to each team too while you’re at it.”

“What about the Romulans, Jim?” asked McCoy, “Do you believe that they’re really trying to find a way to stop the supernova, and that Parrl is trying to help? We may just have traded the devil for the witch here.”

Spock opened his mouth and looked questioningly at the doctor, but Jim held up his hand, curtailing any comment. “Good point. This whole philanthropic thing is a little hard to swallow coming from Section 31. Keep your eyes peeled for any discrepancies or indication that things are...well, things are definitely not what they seem, but anything that feels wrong.”

“Aye, Capt’n,” said Scotty. McCoy nodded, and Spock stood impassively, hands behind his back.

“Okay, dismissed,” said Jim, signalling the end of the meeting. He motioned to McCoy to stay, and when Spock raised an eyebrow, said, “I’ll be out soon. I just wanna discuss something with Bones.”

“Discuss what?” said the doctor, suspiciously, when the ready room door slid closed behind Spock.

“C’mere, sit down,” Jim waved McCoy over to an empty chair beside him, but he sat at one across the table, as if desiring to keep some relatively solid object between them.

“What’s this about, Jim?”

“Well, I figured since we’re probably not gonna get much chance to chat later, seeing as we’ve got Section 31, a rogue Romulan faction and a murderer on the loose, we should do so now,” said Jim. McCoy stared, deeply suspicious.

“I wanted to let you know that Spock and I have…done it,” the captain looked away, a deep flush colouring even his ears. McCoy was surprised, not by the news, but by his friend’s reaction.

“Hey!” McCoy chuckled, “It’s not like you to be so bashful, Princess, I’m as open-minded as the next guy.” He raised his eyebrows and looked pointedly at Jim, “I mean, you’ve slept with much more unique, um...well, remember the tentacles on that one Phylosian--”

“How could I forget? Like damp asparagus,” Jim shuddered at the memory, “That was a mistake...they were feelers, by the way, not tentacles.”

“Feelers, tentacles...who am I to judge the function of those appendages?” he shrugged.

“Anyway, it’s not just that we’ve had sex...wait, are blowjobs even sex?” Jim sidetracked himself and then continued, “You know Spock’s a telepath, right? Specifically a touch telepath.”

“I’ve read about it in the medical journals, yes. And I was the one who asked him to try diving into your brain to pull you back to consciousness, remember? Where are you going with this?”

“Did you know that in a Vulcan’s lifetime, he or she may only form one...what’s the word he used…’bond’, if at all?”

“Are you talking Vulcan marriage bonds?” asked McCoy.

“No,” Jim shook his head, as if trying to make sense of it himself, “No, this is different, deeper...in the meld, I got the feeling of something more profound…”

“Look at you, turning into a philosopher,” joked the doctor, looking quizzically at him. Jim fixed his sapphire eyes on his friend across the table.

“I’m scared, Bones,” he admitted. “Spock was initially unwilling to meld with me, to move forward with whatever,” he waved his hand, vaguely, “But you know me, I just...push things...push people,” Jim looked uncountably guilty.

“Hey, hey,” comforted McCoy, reaching out to pat Jim’s hand. “It can’t be as bad as all that, after all, the hobgoblin is a grown man, he can make his own choices.”

“I didn’t understand it, and I still don’t really understand it, but...loss. He feels a great sense of loss for...his mother, his planet, his species, all these connections he had...what if I,” his gaze went back to the window, “What if I’ve forced him into a situation that he explicitly chose never to experience again? What kind of friend...partner am I, to do that to him?”

“Aw, Jim,” McCoy got up from his seat and moved around the table to stand over the captain. After a moment of staring at his pensive form, the doctor reached down and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Look, sweetheart, at the risk of sounding fatalistic, what’s done is done. Even if we don’t know to what depth this...bond...thing is that you’ve got with him now goes, and what might happen if the proverbial shit hits the fan, the fact is that Spock  _ chose _ this. He chose, you.” He gave Jim’s shoulders a shake.

“Now, you need to focus. This isn’t the time to be worried about this.”

“Honestly, I thought you’d be more upset,” said Jim, looking up at the doctor’s gruff, but kindly face. He didn’t want to push his luck, though, and confess to him that Spock now had some sort of direct live feed to his brain, and probably vice versa. Bones was being very charitable and understanding at the moment, and the last thing Jim wanted to do was poke the bear.

“Call me Mr. Sensitive,” quipped McCoy, and Jim laughed.

A while later, Jim returned to the bridge but found he couldn’t sit still. He looked over the duty rosters that Spock had created for the away teams, but didn’t process any of it. His mind instead drifted back to his mother, and more recently, to his interactions with Howard. Even though Jim’s conversations with the other captain had been brief, he had seen the similarities between the captain and his mother. Howard, like Winona, was a scientist to his core. Howard had told Jim of how much he respected his mother, how she wasn’t just brilliant, but also dogged in her pursuit of data and scientific discovery. Winona Kirk wasn’t just his subordinate and colleague, but a partner in the devotion to pure science. However, Captain Howard was undoubtedly dangerous and unscrupulous, because he evidently didn’t let ethics stand in the way of his research, and Winona and those loyal to her must have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. At least, Jim couldn’t think of a more sinister reason than that at the moment. 

It was with a vague feeling of discomfort that Jim brought up thoughts of his mother, so rare was it for him to even think about her. Other than the obligatory birthday or holiday celebration call, communication between them was strained at best. For as long as he could remember, she had sequestered herself off-world, leaving him in the dubious care of her second husband, Frank, and Jim’s older brother, Sam. Lauded as a celebrated geoscientist with numerous awards and publications, and always posted on whatever science vessel was conducting the most cutting edge research missions, Lieutenant Commander Winona Kirk was as untouchable to young Jim, growing up in Riverside, Iowa, as the stars glimmering overhead. 

But there was one memory, half-buried in the distant past of his childhood, that swam to the surface and assailed Jim so strongly that he almost forgot who and where he was in that instant. 

It was one of those humid summer nights where the breeze slunk in over the plains like a bad dog, barely making the seed heads on the tall grasses move. The air was thick and portentous with an oncoming storm, smelling of dust and rain that would wash over the landscape by midnight. Already, Jim could feel one or two heavy droplets splash on his bare arms and forehead, as he looked up at the few stars still gamely twinkling between the gathering clouds. He could see his mother’s light blue dress, glowing in the gloom as if imbued with phosphorescence. If he squinted, he might even be able to make out the pattern of tiny flowers that covered the fabric. It was an old dress that smelt of cheap particle board, and was relegated to the back of the dresser drawer and only taken out and worn when Winona came earthside.

Jim was equal parts ecstatic and nervous to be by his mom’s side. He was six years old, and he couldn’t recall the last time he had seen her face to face. She was humming tunelessly, and he could feel the vibration in her breast as she held him close to her, the warmth of her body making him sweat where he was pressed between the crook of her arm and side.

“Jimmy,” Winona said softly, “Do you know where mommy’s office is?”

“Up there,” said Jim, pointing up at the night sky.

“That’s right,” she squeezed him closer, “And do you know what’s up there?”

“Stars!” exclaimed the boy.

“Yes, stars! But more than stars, there are about a hundred billion planets in the galaxy, Jimmy, and on some of those planets, there are different species, plants, animals, all sorts of fascinating things that we haven’t discovered yet.”

“Are you going to discover new people?” he asked.

“Maybe, but I love planets even if they don’t have people on them. Don’t you think it’s exciting? To be the first one to step on a whole new world. I think it’s exciting.”

Jim nodded, and Winona bent and kissed the top of his head with its tousled sandy curls. “You were born in the stars, Jimmy, and I know you’re going to live among them, one day. And what do you say we do it together, huh? Would you like that?”

“Yeah!” he yelled, head tilted back, throwing his childish voice up into the night, overjoyed that his mom was going to take him on an adventure, that they wouldn’t be parted anymore if he could travel the stars with her. And he remembered the clouds closing over the last few scintillating orbs, and the rain starting to come down with biting insistence, and his mother scooping him up in her arms and running and laughing, the both of them getting soaked through and shivering, though the rain was almost hot. 

Had Jim been a few years older, his resentment at having a mother who was never home, a brother who was too preoccupied to pay attention to him, and an abusive stepfather, would have curtailed his enthusiasm. It was years later that he realized that running away from problems was a trait he had picked up from her early on, and it would have continued its self-destructive path had Captain Pike not dared a beaten and bleeding - but not humiliated, Jim could do that all by himself - delinquent to reach for greater heights and higher things.

Winona had never come back to take him up to the stars with her. Her visits got fewer and fewer, the time that lapsed between each visit grew longer and longer until they petered out entirely, and when she divorced Frank, Jim was sent to Tarsus IV.

That was a long time ago, and Jim Kirk had suppressed much of that anger and resentment, with moderate success. He understood now that children can’t understand the motivations of adults. They only feel their absence from their lives keenly, and a parent’s actions or inactions etch themselves deeply on a child’s soul.

“...Captain,” a deep voice intruded into his thoughts, bringing Jim back into focus. He looked around to see Spock staring at him, a tiny curl of a frown creasing his marble brow.

“Huh? Oh, Spock,” Jim licked his lips, and straightened in his seat. “What’s up?”

“Alpha shift has ended, Captain,” his XO announced.

“Very good,” said Jim, and he startled his yeoman who was standing close by his elbow by jumping out of the command chair and heading to the turbolift. Spock looked after him, and spoke into his mind,  _ Are you all right, Jim? Your mind appears troubled. _

Jim shuddered to hear his friend’s voice reverberating through his thoughts, and shook his head. He wasn’t sure how to form a sentence, much less single words, to project them at Spock, so he tried for a focused feeling of reassurance instead, and tried to launch them in the other man’s general direction. He ducked quickly into the lift and sighed as the doors closed behind him.

Jim wasn’t sure why he tried to stay out of Spock’s reach, and he fought down waves of sudden exhaustion and self-loathing. Why was it that every time he thought he had made progress, solved a problem, or proved he had moved beyond his chronic immaturity, his brain decided to cook up a cocktail of doubt and angst that threatened to derail everything?

Keep it together, Jim! What’s wrong with you! This isn’t the time...this isn’t the time. Jim had reached his quarters and entered them only to pace around the room like a caged animal. After a while, he pulled his shirts off and threw himself onto the bed, thinking that some rest would ease his disquiet. He tucked his hands under him, almost as if he were restraining himself from lashing out, and kept them in that position till they went numb and he fell into a restless doze.

Jim woke up approximately an hour later feeling groggy and irritable, like a fussy child who refused to be soothed. His mind snapped immediately back to Parrl and Howard, and he could practically hear the crackly sound of Winona Kirk’s transmission reverberating in his skull. His body literally ached with unreleased tension and he found he couldn’t catch his breath. Looking wildly around, he pushed himself out of bed, marched to his closet, and mashing the button to open the closet door, grabbed his gym clothes off the shelf. If he was going to be exhausted anyway, much better that he have something physical to be exhausted about.

Feeling like if he didn’t do something about...something, he would jump out of his skin, the captain made his way to the Enterprise’s well appointed gym, which was relatively busy for that time of day. He ducked into the private officer’s section and started up the good old fashioned treadmill, equipped with VR input, and selected a mountain trail somewhere on the Pacific Coast of North America. He grabbed the visual input visor, entered the omni-directional unit and started off at a brisk pace.

Jim had worked up a good sweat, and was really starting to get into the rhythm of his run, when he sensed rather than felt a presence pushing gently against him, as if trying to get his attention. He paused the machine and removed the visor to see Spock, a tall, dark figure in his black undershirt and a pair of tight, figure hugging half-length shorts, standing nearby off to the side, serious brown eyes turned in his direction.

“Spock, hey,” gasped Jim, slightly winded.

“Jim,” said Spock, pushing himself off the wall and approaching him. “Would you like to spar?” he asked, simply.

The captain removed the visor and stepped off the treadmill, nodding in acquiescence, a small smile playing about the corners of his mouth. “You trying to make me feel better, Spock?”

“That depends, Captain, on whether you are able to beat me,” said Spock, and Jim knew a challenge if ever he heard one, and his smile became a grin.

“Oh, we’ll definitely see about that!” he laughed.

Jim punched in the code to a door marked, simply, ‘0G Studio’ that was off to the side of the main gym area. They stored their shoes in the drawers provided outside, and entered barefoot into a small room with curved, padded walls and floor, looking for all the world like a slick looking fun house, or a padded cell. There was a control panel just inside the door, and Jim went over to it while Spock moved to the centre of the room.

“Whaddya say, best two outta three, seven minute bouts each?”

“If you believe it will take that long, Captain,” said Spock, out of the side of his mouth.

“Oh, you’re gonna get it,” smirked Jim, meeting the challenge head on. He pressed a button on the panel and walked to the middle of the room, crouching down and facing his XO. A mechanical hum started up somewhere behind the walls, and the two men could feel themselves becoming weightless.

A tone signalling the start of the first round sounded, and in a blur of speed, Jim launched himself off his haunches and barrelled into Spock bodily, propelling them both off their feet and into the air. But the Vulcan was not caught unawares, and had immediately attempted to block the chokehold and counter with one of his own. They fought for purchase against each other’s bodies, as there was no longer any gravity to assist any opposition. As they grappled, inertia threw them against one of the walls, and Spock used that purchase to gain an advantage, twisting his body so they started to go into a spin, the slide following the curve of the room. They fought in intense silence, conserving energy like all seasoned fighters knew to do, the only sounds the hum of energy and the men’s laboured breathing. Besides, Jim knew that Spock would not be swayed by idle taunts. 

As the minutes ticked by, the match was moving away from Jim’s favour due to the Vulcan’s greater physical strength, but the captain was not only a great strategist, but a gold medal winner in the art of fighting dirty. Jim swiveled his arm so it slipped out of his sleeve, leaving Spock grasping only fabric, and tugging only aided in the removal of Jim’s shirt completely. As his body was already sweaty from the run and made additionally so from the exertion, he slipped out from under the Vulcan’s strong grasp with ease. Spock released the shirt, floating like some humorous black amoeba in the middle of the room, and they bounced off another wall together. Jim then squirmed sideways and kicked downward, separating himself from Spock, panting from the effort and adrenaline, but grinning widely.

In his mind, he felt that now familiar golden glowing warmth start to suffuse his consciousness, tinged with...humor and enjoyment, which, though not completely eliminating it, managed to sweep his earlier pensiveness away. Feeling lighter and more invigorated than he had in ages, he aligned his body and catapulted himself in Spock’s direction, pulling into a front somersault in an attempt to feint and lock his legs around Spock’s shoulders at the last moment. The trajectory of Jim’s offensive brought them both to the floor of the room and they ricocheted off it with a good turn of speed. Somehow, Jim managed to keep Spock in an extended lock, arm between both of his legs clamped over the Vulcan’s left shoulder as the buzzer signalling the end of the round sounded. Gravity returned to the room to allow a reset, and both opponents faced each other again in the middle of the room.

“Round one to me,” panted Jim, breathing fast.

_ I concede the first round to you _ , spoke Spock into Jim’s mind, his eyes glittering and his chest swelling in and out, the only indications of his exertion.

Jim laughed and shook his head, “Don’t look so calm, Mr. Spock, this trend is only going to continue.”

“One win does not signify a trend, Jim,” returned Spock.

Round two started, and this time it was Spock who was immediately on the offensive, pushing Jim into the opposite wall and temporarily knocking the air from the captain’s lungs. The Vulcan maneuvered around Jim’s body as they drifted into the middle of the room and wrapped his long arms and legs, like some sort of obscene octopus, around him from behind. But Jim was not daunted and with unexpected flexibility, he reached back and gripped Spock in an effort to change the centre of balance in his favour. This caused them to pitch forward into a slow spin, and Jim briefly considered dislocating his shoulder to gain the advantage.

Spock must have dropped his mental shields further than was intentional, and Jim suddenly had a clear feeling of intent reverberate through him.

“No fair! No looking for pressure points!” he yelped.

“Starfleet zero-gravity combat training specifies the use of any methods to gain the upper hand,” grunted Spock, “This move is therefore a valid one.” His limbs were like steel bands around Jim’s body, and fingers wrapped around his neck in a vice-like grip.

Jim shifted his right arm and drove it with all his strength backward and into Spock, aiming for his solar plexus, using Spock’s own hold on him as a counterweight. The other man grunted in pain, but his hold lessened only marginally. Jim tried again, but incredibly, Spock’s hold redoubled, and as much as he squirmed and writhed, like an ancient Chinese finger trap, his movements only succeeded in the bonds tightening around him.

“What...is this, Spock?” gasped Jim, “A metaphor for our relation...ship…?” He was red in the face from slowly being asphyxiated, and his azure eyes were like liquid diamonds, but his brain was alive with streams of sparkling golden rays and, like a wave washing over them both, his own indelible, unmistakable blue.

They floated in mid-air, spinning slightly, coiled tight together like two serpents, and Jim luxuriated in the feeling of Spock’s hard body pressed against his back. Spock’s eyes had closed, and they could have hung there for an eternity if not for the buzzer that sounded and the gravity that kicked back in, lowering them both gently to the floor. Spock loosened but did not relinquish his hold, and both men stood stock still, lost in their private, multicoloured world. Slowly, eyelashes trembling against pink, warm cheeks, Jim turned in Spock’s arms and lay his sweat soaked forehead against the Vulcan’s own remarkably cool brow.

The buzzer for the final round was sharp over the sound of the two men’s heavy, exhaustion-laden breaths, but they disregarded it completely. As zero-g resumed, and their feet lifted a few centimeters off the pads, Jim caught Spock’s mouth in his own, urgently and passionately, and the Vulcan opened up to him like the breaking dawn.

Spock’s hands, fingers splayed, traveled across Jim’s perspiration-slicked back, and pulled them close together. Jim was concentrating on exploring every part of his lover’s soft mouth, and his own hands had moved to cup Spock’s taut, muscled ass. He squeezed and groaned around Spock’s tongue as his straining erection rubbed full-length against the Vulcan’s own. They moved in a lazy spiral, kissing and grasping, eventually bumping into the ceiling.

When the artificial gravity reasserted itself, they continued on the floor of the studio, Spock grinding rhythmically, his face contorted with pleasure, and Jim’s hand dived into tight gym shorts to grab his friend’s slick, engorged length, which caused a cascade of pure white rapture to flood his senses.

Suddenly, the door buzzer trilled, breaking through their euphoria. They broke apart and Jim exhaled, momentarily disoriented. Spock, his pupils still blown wide and dark with arousal, began to lever himself reluctantly off his captain. He adjusted the substantial bulge in his shorts and stooped to retrieve Jim’s discarded shirt, which he handed to him.

“I think you might need that more than me,” said Jim, sitting up and raising an eyebrow at the crotch that was now at his eye level. Spock merely sniffed, but he self-consciously pulled his shirt hem lower. Jim grinned, dimples appearing, and leapt to his feet.

A minute later, the studio door opened and the two crewmen waiting outside for their turn saw their captain - shirtless, skin glistening with sweat, hair tousled and eyes bright - striding out with his first officer, a curious chartreuse stain on his cheeks, following close at his heels.

“At ease, gentlemen,” said Jim, as he breezed past his subordinates and headed towards the officer’s change rooms with Spock. Foremost in his mind was how to convince his first officer of the logic and benefits of shared showers.

At 0800 the next day, a subdued mood permeated the Enterprise. Five teams assembled in the transporter room and beamed down one by one to the surface of the planet.

Jim was present at their send-off, and looked unhappy and uncharacteristically anxious, fidgeting like a mother hen near Scotty and the transporter console, making the already jumpy Scotsman even more nervous. Just then, the primary reason for his disquietude entered the transporter room, carrying a PADD and sporting some analyzing apparatus slung over his shoulders. Jim’s expression was resigned as Spock came up to him.

* * *

They had been relaxing on the couch in Jim’s quarters after dinner the night before, when Spock had broached the subject of where he was going to assign himself.

“I kinda assumed you’d be with me, Spock, overseeing our crew and analyzing the findings from the labs,” said Jim.

“Jim, it is my duty as your first officer to ensure the safety of the crew and its captain. I would be better positioned to do this by working closely with the Oberth crew.”

“No, I don’t agree. It’s too dangerous. I want all of us to maintain some distance from them,” he objected.

“I believe the ancient human military strategist, Sun Tze said, ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer’, and that is precisely what I would be doing,” countered Spock.

“Spock, I don’t need to remind you what Howard did to my mom!” shouted Jim. He looked away, frustrated.

“Starfleet regulations dictate that my role on this ship is to safeguard--”

“Oh, don’t you dare go quoting Starfleet regulations at me, Spock,” he glared at the Vulcan, “And you’re conveniently leaving out that a first officer’s duty is to carry out the decisions of the captain. And this captain says ‘no’.” 

“Is that an order,  _ Sir _ ?” said Spock, coldly.

Jim clenched his jaw, “I can’t believe we’re arguing about this!”

“Is it an order, Captain?” he reiterated.

Jim looked at his friend in desperation, “I don’t want to have to make it an order, Spock, I want you to understand that I’m  _ worried _ about you,” he said, plaintively.

Spock’s expression softened, and he reached out to squeeze his captain’s arm. “I understand, Jim. However, strategically, there is no one else better positioned to uncover the truth. I would like...I am requesting...that you trust me on this.

“Please.”

Jim gave in, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. As was becoming more and more the case nowadays, Jim could rarely deny his first officer anything. “I just hope you know what you’re doing,” he grumbled.

* * *

“Good morning, Jim,” said Spock softly in greeting. Jim smiled, and placed a hand on the Vulcan’s arm. Off to the side, the familiarity was not lost on Scotty, who raised his eyebrows and carefully looked away.

Spock stepped up to the transporter platform and assumed position on the glowing pad. He looked down at his friend with warmth in his brown eyes.

“I don’t think I need to tell you to be careful down there,” said Jim.

“No, you do not, but nevertheless…” replied Spock,  _ I will be careful, Ashayam, do not worry _ , he spoke into Jim’s mind.

The captain crooked a half-smile, “Yeah, you’d better be.” Then he turned back to Scotty, who was studiously examining his console, “Energize, Mr.Scott.”

Down on the planet’s surface, Spock materialized and came face to face with Captain Howard. The older captain was standing with some of his crew, though the tall blue Andorian was noticeably absent. Howard turned and came up to Spock.

“Hi there, Commander Spock, where is your captain?” he asked.

“Captain Kirk has remained on the Enterprise, though I would be happy to communicate that you are looking for him,” said Spock, politely.

“That won’t be necessary at the moment. I’m guessing you came down here to work, so if you please, you’ll find Sozon in the computer lab. She’s crunching some numbers and could probably use a big brain like yours.” He turned away, but Spock stopped him by saying,

“Captain Howard, may I ask you some questions about the tasks that you have assigned to the Enterprise crews?”

“Shoot,” said Howard.

Spock hesitated for a microsecond before continuing. “When I received the list you drew up previously, I noticed that many of them are quite minor, and do not in fact require the number of personnel you have asked for in order to complete each one. I believe it would be more expedient for several tasks to be handled by one crew member--”

“Well, with such a huge crew complement as the Enterprise has, I thought it would be a shame not to share this exciting project with as many people as possible,” Howard interrupted with his explanation.

“Regarding the project, Sir, may we have the overall schematics for the device you are intending to construct?” asked Spock.

“No, Commander, you may not,” said Captain Howard, his face hard.

“Captain Kirk and I would be better able to assist if we have knowledge of--”

Again, the captain interrupted, and Spock could tell his patience was wearing thin. “You’ve been given your orders, Commander. Are you being insubordinate to a senior officer?”

“No Sir,” said Spock, though his eyes narrowed. Howard nodded curtly and turned away, effectively ending the conversation.

Spock did not find the lieutenant in the computer lab, which was empty of everything but the hum of machinery working very hard, but that was ideal for his purposes. He removed a data chip from his kit and plugged it into a computer station, and then punched something into the console. Looking around surreptitiously, he then leaned his kit bag against the console on the counter so that it obscured the chip. He switched off the display and moved over to another station that had evidently been in use by Sozon, and after looking at his PADD, started inputting calculations. After a few minutes, he felt a presence behind him as he waited for the computer to finish calculating the batch of formulas he had inputted into it.

“Lieutenant Sozon,” he said, without turning around.

“Commander Spock,” she greeted him, standing close by his right elbow, “How did you know it was me?”

“You have a particular cadence to your step,” said Spock, inclining his head in her direction.

“Well, I’m glad you took the time to notice,” she smiled, her pale eyes amused.

The computer beeped, signaling the completion of its computation, and Spock scrolled through the readout. He frowned slightly, and said, “Lieutenant, I am glad for your presence--”

“Why, Commander, are you proposing we take our relationship to an--”

“I am merely stating that your arrival was fortuitous as I have some questions to ask you. Tell me, what is your understanding of stellar nucleosynthesis?” asked Spock, interrupting her.

Unfazed, Sozon replied, “It’s a very elementary process, Commander, I am surprised you are asking me such a simple question.” Spock merely raised an eyebrow, so she continued, “it is when chemical elements such as helium and higher elements are created by nuclear fusion reactions within stars.”

“And what happens in the case of a supernova, more specifically, in the case of the Romulan sun?”

“The Romulan sun will explode at the end of its life. Most likely, it will run out of nuclear fuel and some of its mass will flow into its core, causing an exponential imbalance that makes the core so heavy that it collapses, and the star will be unable to withstand its own gravitational force and...boom,” Sozon mimicked the explosion with her hands dramatically.

“An apt description,” said Spock, “And if I understand what Captain Howard and the science team of the Oberth are proposing, you intend to use enriched dilithium to cause nuclear fission at the core of the star, which will essentially replenish the stellar body’s fuel reserves. If successful, nucleosynthesis is essentially reversed, and the star is given, as a human would say, a new lease on life.”

“An apt description,” copied Sozon, smiling as if Spock had performed some sort of amusing trick.

“Lieutenant, are you certain that these formulae are using the most recent calculations your team has developed?” asked Spock, pointing to the results.

“Yes, why?”

“Because they do not appear to be working.”

“What? Let me see…” Sozon moved over to stare at the screen.

Spock continued, “Given the hypothesis that nucleosynthesis reversal is possible, there is still the question of a statistical equilibrium. All evidence so far has shown that complete thermodynamic equilibrium and therefore reversal of a fusion reaction cannot occur due to the inevitable escape of neutrinos. I am uncertain that any amount of applied energy would do anything but increase the speed of explosive nucleosynthesis. Would this in fact exacerbate the problem, not solve it?”

“Curious,” muttered the lieutenant, not paying attention to Spock in the least. “This is not the data that I was working on earlier. Some of the calculations are incomplete. There are formulae missing from this equation.”

Over in another part of the complex, Scotty had beamed down and was working with the Oberth’s chief engineer and a surly Romulan. While keeping a weather eye on his team, who were involved in tasks that would have taken a quarter of them half the time allotted, Scotty himself was faced with bits of Romulan machinery spread out across a long workbench like the debris from the aftermath of some extremely localized tornado.

“So…” he said, rubbing his hands together, “What dae we have here? Looks like the components of several verra interestin’ weapons.”

“These are salvaged from Romulan mining equipment, human,” growled the Romulan, named tr’Durak. “Do not assume you are anything but ignorant.”

“Alright chappie, no need to get ye nickers inna twist,” said Scotty, placatingly. He turned his attention to his counterpart, who rolled his eyes and shrugged.

“Don’t take it personally, he’s been like that to everyone since the beginning.”

“Aye, I’ll bear that in mind, Mr. Pak. By the way, what are we doing here?”

“Well, that’s one of the big philosophical mysteries of the universe, isn’t it, Mr. Scott. Who can really say if it’s all pure chance, or maybe it's all part of a great big ineffable plan.”

Scotty frowned quizzically and opened his mouth, but then he saw the other man’s grin, and returned it with a laugh. “Aye, that’s fer sure,” he agreed.

“As for what we’re supposed to do with all this junk...we’re supposed to be modifying it as per this spec on the PADD,” Lieutenant Pak handed Scotty the portable unit. “We’ll make some design mods to the parts so it suits our purposes better, and then render it through the 3D fabricator. Depending on how far we get on things today, we might be able to start in on the electrical layout for the device. It’s pretty complex, so I appreciate your help.” Pak smiled.

Scotty nodded happily. He liked the Oberth’s chief engineer, who was a Korean man in his mid-thirties and had grown up on one of the old Earth colonies that had been around since before the Federation. He had a laid-back attitude, and Scotty had been surprised to learn that he wasn’t just the chief engineer of his ship, but also her chief operations officer and sometime senior lab technician and researcher. Pak had said that “everyone on a science vessel is going to be a scientist of some sort or other, besides, research is more of a hobby of mine”, but Scotty felt that this was a few too many hats for one man to be wearing. He suspected that the number of roles Mr. Pak had undertaken was probably due to the number of vacancies the Oberth had experienced. It would be best to keep on his guard, despite his counterpart’s affable nature.

In the hours after alpha shift was over and the crews returned to the safety of the Enterprise, Jim would convene with his senior officers for a debrief. Lack of sleep and an excess of worry had given him dark circles under his eyes, but his baby blues were bright and hard with an increasing sort of manic urgency. The longer they were trapped in this metaphorical fighting ring between Admiral Parrl’s Section 31, Captain Howard and the Romulan faction, the less likely they were going to get out of it alive. Jim didn’t need to be reminded that he had over four hundred lives in his hands, and he was putting their lives on the line to chase the ghost of his dead mother.

Jim had found out after two days that Captain Howard had reassigned several members of his crew from the rosters that Spock had drawn up originally, and even given what they already knew about the Captain’s nefarious behaviour, this was downright suspicious. Jim was confused about how transparent the captain was being. Did he think Jim wouldn’t notice when some of his engineering staff were transferred to a chemical dissection team, and two of the x-ray communications technicians were reassigned to putting together bits of machinery? Howard was assigning these crew members to tasks they had very little knowledge of.

When confronted with the evidence, Howard had been dismissive. “May I remind you, Captain Kirk, that this is my project. Even now I’m unsure why Admiral Parrl decided to bring you on. I don’t need any help.”

“This is my crew, Howard. I have a right to know what they’re doing and why,” growled Jim.

“Your crew are helping to create my design for an intra-stellar nucleosynthesis destabilizer. Admiral Parrl gave me authority to use all personnel at my disposal, as I saw fit. This includes you and your crew.”

He started walking away from Jim, but continued talking over his shoulder, “You should be thankful that this endeavor will add another feather in your, in my opinion, frankly over-glorified cap, Captain. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.”

After about a Standard week of working with Howard’s crew, helping to build an array of confusing parts, pulling apart and rebuilding bits of what looked to be both Federation and Romulan apparatus, tinkering with chemical formulas and generally doing tasks that didn’t make sense to any of them, some of the ship’s security personnel who had managed to perform some reconnaissance while avoiding the majority of security cameras had reported that the crates of weapons they had discovered on their first sojourn to the facility were being moved. Jim wasn’t surprised to learn that correspondingly, Romulan shuttles had been increasing their trips back and forth from the two warbirds that had joined the starships in orbit. If anyone were to glimpse the planet from space, they would have witnessed a sight unlike any that had been seen in a hundred years. Romulan birds of prey in the same vicinity as Federation vessels. The only difference was that they weren’t actively firing on each other.

Jim tried to ask Howard in a roundabout way if he knew anything about the Romulans stockpiling weapons, without giving away the fact that he  _ knew _ those crates contained weapons, but the other captain was cagey in his responses about that issue as well. Their mutual dislike of each other, which had solidified over a short space of time, though it had not come to blows, had manifested itself in a marked increase in surliness verging on outright verbal aggression.

“Don’t you find it really strange that Starfleet is knowingly working with Romulans?” challenged Jim, when he managed to corner Howard in one of the dilithium testing labs by himself.

“I don’t make it a habit to constantly question orders from Starfleet like you do, Kirk,” replied Howard, coldly.

“I wouldn’t be a Starfleet captain if I didn’t use my brain to question when I feel an order is wrong,” he countered.

“Take it up with the Admiral, I’m not stopping you, but don’t be surprised if he writes you up for insubordination,” said the other captain. “Your reputation precedes you, Captain Kirk. You may have won accolades for your bravado and foolhardiness, but you’re nothing but a hotshot upstart. You burn bright, and just like that...pfft,” Howard leaned in and gesticulated with his hand, “You’ll burn out.” 

And while Jim’s hands had been relatively tied, being the most visible representative of the Enterprise, his first officer had made good on his plan to infiltrate the opposition, and had brought back several terabytes of information from hacked facility computers. Though the complete blueprints for the design were most likely held on the Oberth, Spock had managed to glean sufficient information to put together a concise enough picture of what was really going on. The both of them were confused by the seemingly inconsistent actions of Captain Howard and his crew, however.

“It is strange, Jim,” said Spock as he and Jim were sequestered in the captain’s quarters after dinner, “Either Lieutenant Sozon is incompetent at her job, or someone is trying to sabotage the end result. Dilithium has a complex molecular structure, and its properties are difficult to extract without excessive refining, however, some of the problems we are encountering...the continued failed experiments...if I was superstitious, or a human, I would say it was  _ bad luck _ ,”

“Good thing you’re neither then, Spock,” said Jim, smiling despite himself. “Whaddya think is going on?”

“I cannot say for certain, but Captain Howard is trying to help the lieutenant, and I have observed he is not happy about the delays.” 

“I hope you’re not trying too hard to help her figure it out, Spock. We need to delay whatever is happening to find out...whatever is happening.”

“Understood, Captain.”

The reports coming in from the Enterprise work crews, who were told to make a note of everything, no matter how inconsequential, also contributed to the formation of what was becoming a very large, and very disturbing, picture. Jim, Spock and Scotty poured over information gleaned from days of work down on the planet, feeling all the while like they were sitting on a giant powderkeg, which was exacerbated by the planetary instability. Two crewmen had already been concussed by falling debris, and one had lost his footing from sudden tremors and broken his leg falling off a ladder.

“Look at all these parts they’ve been having our crew build.” Jim had set aside Dr. McCoy’s latest medical report and was now looking at information from the work crews.

“Booster components, and what I can only assume is some sort of casing; are these fins for directional control? Or are they guidance flutes for burrowing? And this thing - I remember seeing something of similar design on Nero’s drilling rig,” Jim’s speech was agitated as he flicked through images on the PADD.

“Aye, Jim, and the weird thing about the casing an’ some of the components is tha’ they’re no’ strong enough fer what ye wud expect needs teh withstand stellar core temperatures,” reported Scotty.

“Huh, that  _ is _ weird.” Jim turned back to his PADD and zoomed in on another image. Squinting at it, he said, “This looks very much like the beginnings of a subspace trigger for a remote detonation sequencer, but short range, not long range.” He handed the screen to Spock.

“Indeed, Captain,” corroborated Spock.

“From what we know of mechanical contrivances that have been used in stellar exploration and research, I hypothesize that what is being built will not follow any contemporary designs,” he continued.

“Spock, let’s render these images and put them together with all that info you uncovered. We’ll run them through the 3D imager and see what we get,” ordered Jim.

They left the meeting room and made their way to one of the Enterprise’s science labs. Spock got to work compiling all the data they had amassed over the last few days as Jim paced. After too many agonizing minutes, the computer beeped, and Spock looked up at his captain, nodding his head slightly. Jim went over to the control panel on the wall near the door and pushed a couple of buttons. “Bones, come in,” he said.

“What’s up, Jim?” came the doctor’s voice.

“Come to science lab 3. Spock’s got something to show us.”

“Okay, I’ll be right down. McCoy out.”

When the doctor arrived, Jim gave the signal for his first officer to display the results. They gathered around the imaging projector in the middle of the lab and Spock punched in a code. “I shall display the components as the computer has deciphered first as a tomographic image, and then the progression of the apparatus’s amalgamation based on all the available information,” said Spock.

The projection sprang up in a gleaming array of blue and white glowing lines. Individual components, like a blasted apart image of some sort of mechanical blueprint were arranged in a spherical pattern along several invisible lines. Some were annotated, probably the handy work of Spock himself. When he pressed another button on the console, the disparate pieces swirled around each other in a glittering dance and coalesced into one three dimensional, transparent, spinning image.

Scotty gasped, McCoy swore and Spock raised both eyebrows. “It’s a great big bomb, that’s what it is!” Jim exclaimed. 

He met Spock’s gaze, eyes wide, “Shit!”

After the disturbing revelation, Jim had flung himself into a nearby chair and sat staring up at the ominous projection. His bangs had fallen over his brow, but he ignored them and frowned more intensely, deep in thought. Having his crew on the surface and having the Enterprise locked in orbit around the planet was akin to pitching a tent on a nest of venomous snakes.

“So...it looks like they’re buildin’ a weapon o’ mass destruction,” mused Scotty, “But who’s it gonna be dropped on? And who’s doin’ the droppin’?”

“Whatever it is, I highly doubt it’s to stop any sort of supernova,” said McCoy. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it was going to cause one!”

Using the gestural interface, Spock added in a mock up of enriched dilithium in a chain-melted state to what they suspected was the energy chamber. He bent over his PADD and his fingers flew over the screen. “Fascinating,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

McCoy rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the captain. “Even if we uncover the whole conspiracy, who are we going to report to, Jim? Who knows how deeply Section 31 has got its roots into Starfleet!” The doctor had physically worked himself into a corner with worry, and was chewing a thumbnail.

“And if we’re caught wi’ this information, what will they do? Are they seriously gonna try teh blow up a starship full a’ 430 crewmembers?!” said Scotty, incredulously. “Anyway, what with, too? The Oberth is just a wee ship, and I verra much doubt the Romulans will get in the middle of a fight atween Starfleet.”

“Parrl knows we would eventually come to this conclusion or something very similar to it. What’s that bastard planning to do with us?” Jim ground his teeth. “I need more time to figure this out...Spock, how far away do you think Howard is from solving the dilithium energy output issue?”

Spock did not answer him right away, and Jim asked again, “Spock?”

His first officer looked at him with an unusually emotional expression on his normally placid face, “I had installed a monitoring device in the facility’s main control computer,” he explained. “The device is triggered when it registers energy outputs of greater than 7 million electron volts per nucleon recorded, and it has just sent me a notification.

“Captain Howard has solved the equation necessary for enriching chain-melted dilithium and is successfully manufacturing it. I am afraid we are out of time, Jim.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter eight title is from Shakespeare's Macbeth


	9. When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions

It was one of those universal constants like the law of increasing entropy, that Jim and his crew inevitably found themselves in such a position that, in hindsight, he thought it apt to apply one of those ancient idioms like, ‘it never rains but it pours’, or because the planet was full of earthquakes and volcanoes a more fitting saying could be, ‘out of the frying pan and into the fire’. Perhaps, he was caught musing later, a quote from a beloved Shakespearean play, “When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions”, suited the situation the best.

In the present moment, Jim stood with his arms crossed and his brow furrowed. “What can we do about the dilithium?” he asked, looking around at his command officers. “How can we stop this bomb from being completed?”

“It is no longer possible to stop the process, Captain. Due to the unstable nature of dilithium when it undergoes refinement, especially at the extreme temperatures currently being subjected to it, any disruption would be catastrophic, and result in the destruction of the entire facility.”

“It’s not like you to use hyperbole,” McCoy remarked, wryly.

“I am not,” said Spock, raising an eyebrow.

Jim clenched his fists, feeling his youth and relative inexperience acutely. It was one thing to charge in headlong, damn the consequences, as he might have done just a few years ago, but he was no longer that irresponsible and foolhardy. He owed it to Pike...and to Mom. Jim was determined to throw the rule book straight at Howard’s, and hopefully Parrl’s, heads, damn Section 31. Too much suffering; too many deaths. The buck had to stop at Jim Kirk.

“If we can’t stop the bomb from being completed--”

“I would advise we wait for it to be assembled, as chain-melted dilithium would be safest in the reaction chamber that has been purpose built for it,” said Spock.

“What?! But then there’ll be a perfectly good bomb just waiting to go off goodness knows where! Anyone could just take it!” yelled McCoy, incredulously.

“Spock, from all the information we’ve gathered, it should be pretty easy to identify the detonation mechanism, right?” asked Jim, looking up from where he had been studying a PADD.

“Affirmative. It would be a separate unit as the device seems to have been designed to be detonated remotely and from quite a distance, like an orbital space to ground missile.”

“So someone needs to go down to the facility to try and locate the detonation mechanism. If we can take it off Howard’s hands, we render the bomb useless.”

“What about them Romulans, Jim?” asked Scotty. “Seems to me they ken it’s no’ gonna be used on their star. Do yeh figure it’s some sort of nefarious plot cooked up in cahoots wi’ Section 31?” 

“Yeah, probably...but what?” Jim shook his head. “Whatever. For now, we focus on disabling the bomb. Spock, I hate this, but you’re more familiar with the facility layout than I am. Go down to the surface and attempt to locate the detonator, and be as careful as you can. Scotty, rig up some sort of containment area in the cargo bay for transporting the bomb safely. Maybe a narrow band forcefield will work. We’re gonna have to get it back to known Federation space and notify Starfleet.”

“Aye, aye, Sir,” came exclamations of compliance, and Jim’s most trusted friends and advisors rushed to carry out his orders.

The skies over Theta-593 were still dark, with a stain of pre-dawn light mixing with the crimson embers of hundreds of volcanoes on the surface, the intermittent cloud cover like fresh scars over a star-pocked dome. Spock beamed down just outside the facility and made his way stealthily through the empty, sleeping corridors towards the dilithium refining laboratory, adjacent to which he knew many components of the bomb were being housed, a deeper shadow in the gloom.

Though the hallways were quiet, his sharp hearing could pick up the increased whine of activity in the main mining chamber. Captain Howard’s design for the payload required an incredible amount of raw dilithium, and even though they had some time before the bomb would be made fully operational with its payload in place, that time was fast becoming a luxury they couldn’t afford.

As he approached the lab, a door slid open on his left, and Spock was stopped in his tracks suddenly by a phaser pointed directly at his head.

“I’m not well versed in Vulcan physiology, Commander, but I know that a blast to the head can usually upset most people’s day,” said Lieutenant Sozon in a low voice.

“Lieutenant, may I inquire--”

“No, you may not. And no sudden moves, please, my trigger finger is feeling distinctly itchy.” Sozon indicated for Spock to step inside what was a small storage room, and she engaged the lock when the door closed behind him.

They eyed each other for a few moments, and then the tall Andorian female lowered the phaser, though she did not put it away. “I’m going to trust you, Commander Spock, because what we are up against is bigger, way bigger, than the both of us. At this point, I’m not sure even your famous Captain Kirk would be able to get us out of it.”

“You are speaking of the fact that Captain Howard has managed to solve the equation on achieving a chain-melted state of dilithium,” said Spock, matter of factly.

“How did you…” said Sozon, and then she collected herself, “Yes, and more than that. Despite my best efforts, he’s gone and figured it out and now production has been ramped up 200%”

“Your best efforts?” asked Spock.

“Commander, I was the one sabotaging the research, and I deliberately made errors in my calculations.” She looked up at him with an empty desperation in her pale eyes. “What he did...what he’s doing...it’s unforgivable.”

Spock frowned, “Are you referring to the fact that Section 31--”

“You know then,” the lieutenant said, strangely relieved. “Yes, yes, everything” she said quickly, almost tripping over her words in her hurry to get them out. “I’m part of Section 31, but I don’t want to be! I never asked for any of this! He’s building a bomb, hoping to build a whole arsenal, actually. All these weapons…” she wrung her hands, “They want to use it to destabilize the Romulan government from within, working with this rebel faction, supplying them with firepower…and he killed her when she found out.” She stepped closer to Spock, and gritted her teeth, her eyes bright with tears.

“My captain murdered my best friend, Winona Kirk, and her whole team...sent them to their deaths…”

“Why did you not come to warn us sooner?” asked Spock. “It is not logical to attempt to stop Captain Howard on your own, and if we had known earlier, we might have--”

Sozon shook her head agitatedly. “They have terrible ways of making a person comply, Commander. Section 31...to ensure loyalty, they have...my younger sister, they’re watching her. If I ever defect, they will kill her.”

A look of sympathy passed quickly over Spock’s severe face. “What do you propose we do? I came here in an attempt to locate and take the detonation device, though I admit I am uncertain where exactly to look for it.”

“It’s too late for that, Howard received instructions from the Admiral to ensure the detonator doesn’t fall into Romulan hands. Parrl wants to ensure he has complete control, I guess. The detonation controls have been hardwired to the Oberth’s computer systems.”

“Have you formulated any particular plan?” asked Spock.

Sozon hesitated, then took a deep breath and said, “I have been collecting evidence against Captain Howard. Proof that he orchestrated the deliberate deaths of his crew members. Section 31 is powerful, but even they won’t be able to stand up to Starfleet if the case is watertight enough.” She started to pace back and forth, “I intended to confront him. With the Enterprise’s help, we can place him and those loyal to him under arrest, and stop this madness!”

Spock was silent as he thought. “Are you proposing to use the Enterprise’s superior strength to force Captain Howard to submit himself for arrest? What about the rest of the crew? It is improbable that they will submit quietly.”

“You can return with me to the Oberth. I can reroute the bridge controls to the auxiliary control room in engineering and we can lock everyone out, but I’ll need help with that. We can disable the ship from within; prevent him from running away,” Sozon looked desperate, and when Spock continued to look sceptical said, “The Oberth is running on a skeleton crew. It never had that many personnel to begin with, and after Howard…”

“If I return with you to the Oberth, there is a chance that I may be able to devise a way to override the detonation controls as well. I suggest we be as expedient as possible, Lieutenant. Our success may depend on the element of surprise.”

Sozon’s azure face broke into a relieved smile, and her antennae inclined themselves in Spock’s direction. “Thank you, Commander.”

* * *

The interior of the Romulan bird-of-prey Sorus glowed a dull red from lighting recessed into walls beyond sharply angled bulkheads, and belied the ambient temperature of the vessel, which was verging on uncomfortably cold. It was the belief of this warrior species that comfort softened the will, and their soldiers and generals not only trained in extremes of weather and endured great trials and discomforts, they denied themselves any semblances of luxury and seemed to spurn everything but the absolute basics in functionality.

Their uniforms and military accoutrements, however, were quite the opposite, displaying a wealth of heavily wrought metals and numerous medallions over their blocky, padded tunics and richly patterned fabrics. They literally clinked as they walked about the bridge.

The Romulans did not spend very much time down on the surface of the planet if they could help it. The partnership with Admiral Parrl’s people was tenuous at best, and tr’Chelok only kept reconnaissance sentries rotating through the facility to keep an eye on their Starfleet counterparts. After they had transported all the hybridized weapons which had been developed by the Federation faction they were supposedly working with, up to the warbirds, tr’Chelok had sequestered himself on-board to await further orders from the Tal Shiar, the intelligence agency he reported under. 

“ei-Vek tr’Chelok, the Vice-Chairman is on the comm,” reported Neral, standing at the operations terminal. This was after a wait of two rotations of Romulus.

“Put her on screen,” said tr’Chelok, swiveling his chair around to the front main viewscreen. It flickered and cleared to reveal a young-ish Romulan female, her straight black hair cut severely in a razor sharp line across her olive toned brow, and pulled tight in the back and tied in a thin snake of a braid down her neck. If it weren’t for the flinty, humorless eyes and permanent scowl which had settled deep into her rather fine-boned face, she would have been considered quite attractive by any number of species.

“tr’Chelok, I brought your report regarding the appearance of additional Starfleet dogs at the facility, to the Committee,” she said in a surprisingly soft, melodic voice that belied a hard and intractable personality. “We are in agreement that we will be able to turn this to our advantage. Your orders are to capture both Starfleet vessels for use in our operation. Do not damage them unduly. They must appear fully functional for our plan to succeed. Recommendation is a manned infiltration.”

“With respect Vice-Chairman, how do we get past their shields?” tr’Chelok sneered. “We cannot simply go up to their front door and knock on it.”

It was a well-known fact among Romulan military circles that tr’Chelok had considered himself next in line for the Vice-Chairmanship when the previous incumbent had died under mysterious circumstances. It was a bitter pill indeed that he had been passed up for promotion, the position going to someone he considered was only qualified by dint of her fortuitous birth into Tal Shiar elite. There was no love lost between the proud soldier and his superior officer, and everyone in the Romulan Star Empire’s infamous secret police organization knew this.

“We have obtained a shield frequency jamming algorithm that should be suitable for your purposes. Our...alliance...with those unsuspecting Federation curs has proven fruitful. The data package is being transmitted to you now,” said the Vice-Chairman, coolly. tr’Chelok looked over to Neral, who nodded slightly.

“Return directly to Romulan space once you have captured the vessels. For the glory of the Empire,” she sang out, and crossed her right forearm over her breast, fist clenched fervently in patriotic zeal.

“The Empire will prevail,” replied tr’Chelok, with slightly less flourish.

When the screen returned to a view of the starscape, tr’Chelok leaned back in his command chair and stared thoughtfully into the middle distance. He had been in service to the Empire for more years than he could count. Most of his peers were dead, and he was hanging on, tooth and nail, like a battle-scarred warrigul that didn’t know when to quit, roll over and die. He had seen many atrocities and committed his fair share as well, but in all his years, he was clear on what he was fighting, who he was fighting for, and who he was fighting against. Maybe he was becoming weak in his dotage, but the Tal Shiar’s plan of taking out an entire civilian outpost, even though it was mainly a colony of a rival house to the ruling party, was akin to genocide. Subterfuge and political intrigue did not seem to sit so well with him now, as it had in his youth when he was more anxious to fight up the rungs of the hierarchy.

tr’Chelok fondled the pommel of his sword pensively. He thought back to the firefight with the Starfleet captain and found upon reflection that it had been extremely satisfying. The old Romulan almost didn’t begrudge the young, brash captain’s victory in disabling one of his warbirds, and when he had seen the tall, golden figure, standing like a virtuous D'ravsai among his subordinates, tr’Chelok was impressed despite himself. He vastly preferred the young human with his filthy Vulcan shadow to the insipid Captain Howard and his effeminate preoccupation with numbers and lab work.

“ei-Vek,” said Neral, by his elbow, interrupting his reverie, “A report has just come in from the planet’s surface. The humans have accelerated their rate of dilithium refinement. It seems Captain Howard has solved his problem and they are currently manufacturing the payload for the device.”

However, tr’Chelok did not move from his position upon hearing the news. Instead, he continued to muse, “I wonder how much of a resistance that young Captain Kirk will put up when we capture his ship...and Captain Howard. He is as gormless as a tame hlai’hwy, but I expect he will still put up a fight to protect his ship.”

He turned to Neral, “Time is of the essence. When the weapon is completed, no doubt Howard will transport it aboard his ship for safe-keeping and so those Federation dogs have a bargaining chip with us. That suits our purposes just fine. We will ambush and board his vessel once it is on board. Take the greater bulk of our troops to capture the Enterprise first. I suspect that any inexperience from that crew will be mitigated by their youthful enthusiasm, and it may take a while to subdue them.”

“The humans are young and strong, indeed,” agreed Neral. “May I humbly suggest that we ambush them when their people are on the surface during their working hours?”

tr’Chelok nodded, grudgingly, “Not an unreasonable idea. Do it.”

“I will start assigning our soldiers immediately.”

* * *

Jim had decided to give the impression of ignorance even though they had now pretty much deciphered Section 31’s machinations, and sent the work crews back down to the surface once 0800 hours rolled around.

“Do you think that’s wise, Jim?” questioned McCoy, “I would feel a lot better about this situation if we weren’t all so spread out.”

“I know, Bones, but we need to maintain our cover,” explained Jim, “However, I know at some point either Section 31 or the Romulans are going to make their move. We’ll keep our guard up.”

The captain sat down in his command chair. “Yellow alert,” he ordered, “Increase security at designated areas; deflectors at maximum.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” sighed the doctor, and he left the bridge for Sickbay.

A couple of hours later, Uhura drew Jim’s attention from where he was pouring over the data Spock had gleaned from the facility, imagining that if he stared hard enough all the answers would present themselves.

“Captain, there is a communication from the planet’s surface; it’s the commander, patching it through now,” she said.

“Spock,” answered Jim, “What’s up?”

“Captain,” came Spock’s voice, slightly distorted due to the high levels of magnetic interference from the surface, “There have been some very interesting developments.”

“Where are you right now?” asked Jim, aware that the cloaking around the mining facility blocked all comm signals.

“I have managed to find a secure location outside the facility from which to contact you,” said Spock, though some static, “But I have to be brief...I have been in contact with Lieutenant Sozon...”

Jim frowned, recalling the beautiful Andorian science officer who had a penchant for monopolizing Spock’s attention every time she appeared, but he didn’t interrupt.

“...who has demanded our assistance in apprehending Captain Howard,” Spock explained. “She has also agreed to assist me in disabling the detonator, but both require me to return with her to the USS Oberth.”

“Wha--?!” Jim’s brow furrowed deeply in reaction to what he was hearing. He sat forward in his chair while Uhura and the rest of the bridge crew listened in.

As if Spock could mentally read all of Jim’s jumbled thoughts, and perhaps he actually could, the XO clarified, “Lieutenant Sozon wants to bring Captain Howard to justice for the murders of the lieutenant commander and her team, and she believes that if we render the Oberth defenseless from within, the Enterprise’s superior weapons and tactical abilities will induce Captain Howard to surrender himself into our custody.

“Furthermore, the detonator has been hardwired to that ship on Admiral Parrl’s orders, so I will have to attempt to disable it on-board if we are to have any success in neutralizing the weapon.”

“But, Spock, how do we know if she’s telling the truth?” asked Jim, agitatedly, and out of the corner of his eye, he caught Uhura’s worried gaze. “You could be walking into a trap!”

“I do not think we have much choice, Jim,” said Spock, his voice over the crackling comm suddenly soft and intimate. “If there is any chance of justice for your mother’s death, I suggest we--”

But just then, Spock’s voice stopped mid-sentence, and Jim panicked.

“Spock? Spock!” The captain jumped up from his chair, “Spock, can you hear me?”

“Uhura, did the comm die? Get him back!”

The communications officer whipped back around to her station, and she frantically pressed at multiple buttons in a desperate bid to reestablish communications, but to no avail.

“Lieutenant Uhura, get that comm back online, immediately!” ordered Jim.

“I’m trying, Captain,” said Uhura, anxiety sharp in her voice, “But there’s something that seems to be jamming the subspace signal, as if we’re--”

Suddenly, Chekov interrupted, “Uh, Keptin, I am getting some wery weird readings from ze shields.” He expanded the schematic on his console with one hand, and squinted at the readings scrolling past. “It’s ze deflector array, Keptin! Someone or something iz attempting to disrupt it!”

“Compensate, Mr. Chekov!” ordered Jim.

The ensign’s fingers flew over his console, shaking his head and muttering a string of worried Russian sounds under his breath as he desperately tried to stop the intrusion.

“Keptin, eet is impossible! Eet’s like a wirus has infected ze deflector controls, I am unable to compensate--”

“Ensign Cobbit!” called the captain to the science officer who had replaced Spock at his regular station, “Why don’t we have a shield modulating solution yet? Find one for me right now!”

“I...I’m trying, Sir,” said the man, almost crying in his terror. “Whatever it is...it’s predictive...it’s adapting to our every move!”

“I want solutions, Ensign, not excuses,” said Jim, sternly, and in his mind he couldn’t help wishing Spock was by his side, using his incredible analytical powers to thwart the enemy.

“Keptin, we are losing our shields! Sectors three, four, eight and twelve are down!” reported Chekov, looking over his shoulder with desperation in his eyes.

“Reports are coming in all over the ship, Captain!” shouted Uhura from her station, her hand fastened to her earpiece like it was a lifeline, “Romulans have beamed aboard on decks eleven, seventeen and eighteen...also five and six!”

“Red alert!” yelled Jim, “Lieutenant, get those decks sealed off!” He slammed his hand down on the ship-wide broadcast button on his armrest, as the yellow alert beacons changed to an oscillating bright red, and barked, “Security, engage emergency procedures! Active protocol 28 Code One Alpha Zero.”

At every security station throughout the ship, panels swished back to reveal weapon storage slots that slid out and lit up in cool blue backlighting. Rows of phaser rifles in their gun cradles, like sleek, black, armoured soldiers, activated in a simultaneous whine of energy. Security personnel, their red shirts contrasting boldly against the white, polished bulkheads and walls, ran up and grabbed the weapons, some distributing them to crew members in other departments. Even with a significant portion of the crew down on the surface, the Enterprise was still amply well manned and equipped to fight against her aggressors.

As the claxons wailed through the ship, Jim reached for his sidearm that was stored in a hidden compartment of the command chair. He felt the acute, physical absence of his two closest confidants and strongest defenders, but this wasn’t the time to show weakness. Jim blinked. He may have imagined it, but over the sound of the red alert, he fancied he heard Spock call his name. I’m going crazy, he thought, but it fortified him nonetheless. 

Romulan soldiers had been unable to beam directly onto the bridge due to the tri-level modular shielding surrounding the command centre that was installed in the Enterprise-A, but Jim knew with certainty that a boarding party would definitely attempt to capture it, if they got that far. He nodded curtly to his bridge crew, and Sulu and Chekov left their posts and moved to the conservatively sized, but well stocked weapons locker to start distributing phasers.

Jim looked around at his crew, their faces reflecting the grim look in his own eyes. He raised his phaser and flipped the nozzle with a flick of his thumb.

“Set phasers to level-5 stun,” he said, mirthlessly, “Let them come.”

* * *

Spock moved the tuning dial back and forth on his communicator, but received nothing but static on the line. He opened his tricorder and scanned his surroundings. Perhaps the magnetic interference from the planet was obstructing the comm signal. However, the readings did not seem outside of acceptable levels for the communication bands the Enterprise used. The Vulcan felt a prickle start at the back of his neck; an odd, extremely disconcerting feeling.

He looked around carefully, and seeing no one, dropped to one knee into the dark red dust of Theta-593. He closed his eyes and placed two of his fingers against his temple, with his thumb at his jaw. Mentally, he reached out, his psyche flying up into the sky, up beyond the ash-choked atmosphere, into space and toward a sleek, silver shape, glistening in the reflected light of a far away sun. He searched for that bright blue wave of consciousness, the scintillating brilliance that was the katra of Jim Kirk, soul of his soul, and winced physically when his mind encountered panic, a mottled stain spreading over light, and the cold, hard spear of anger.

Something was wrong on the Enterprise, and Spock’s throat clenched in sympathetic response to the emotional fallout he had tapped into.  _ Jim _ , he called out, stretching his thoughts to his bondmate, but he knew the other man could not answer, for Spock had not yet trained him how to. He opened his eyes, which were sharp with frustration, only to hear footsteps behind him. Spock sprang to his feet and turned with superhuman speed, shocking Sozon, who gave a little cry of surprise.

“Commander!” she gasped, and then collected herself. “Commander Spock, I’ve been looking for you...Captain Howard...he’s completed it!”

“That is an impossibility, Lieutenant. Given our calculations, we still have 6.52 hours before the device is completed and ready for transportation.”

“He didn’t tell anybody he was planning to move up production. He may even have assembled much of it himself! I don’t know if this was something cooked up by Parrl, or if Howard was scared someone would sabotage his work…” she smiled, though there was no humour to her words, “Even Section 31 doesn’t trust Section 31.”

Spock was faced with a conundrum, and the hesitation in his expression must have showed, because Sozon looked inquiringly at him. “Is everything alright, Commander?”

“Evidently, our window of opportunity is closing faster than expected,” he commented, ignoring her question and deciding not to disclose what he knew of the Enterprise, in case it further compromised those onboard. Trust only went so far, after all, and Spock was nothing if not judiciously prudent.

“Yes, and we have another complication,” Sozon said, “Howard had charged me with overseeing the shuttlecraft delivery of the bomb, but he’s sending two others now - Lieutenants Kramer and Hayz. They’re extremely loyal to him, and horrible people,” she made a face.

“This presents a problem,” said Spock, thoughtfully, “But not an insurmountable one. Where is the shuttlecraft? If there is a window of opportunity where I might be able to board it undetected, I may be able to conceal myself and ‘stow away’, to borrow an old human nautical phrase.”

“You are fond of these humans, aren’t you,” remarked Sozon.

“That is an illogical statement and not pertinent to the subject at hand,” countered Spock, but he softened very slightly and said, “However, I admit I am, as you say, fond of them.”

“As was I...of one in particular, anyway,” the Andorian sighed, sadly. “She was an amazing woman. So vibrant and full of life, and completely dedicated to her work.”

“I have heard that the Lieutenant Commander earned many accolades for her research,” said Spock.

“Yes,” Sozon looked wistful for a moment and sighed again, “Well, we shouldn’t be standing here reminiscing. I’m supposed to liaise with Kramer and Hayz in fifteen minutes, ten now. They’re going to beam down. The shuttlecraft we’re going to use is in the larger hangar. It’s called the Andromeda...but it’s not the most spacious. Where are you going to hide?”

“I will...assess my options when I see the shuttlecraft,” said Spock, noncommittally.

“Good luck. And be careful of the Romulans. I haven’t seen many of them lately, but that just makes me more anxious.”

Spock nodded and turned to leave, but Lieutenant Sozon called out, “Commander Spock, wait.”

She held out her hand. “In case we...we don’t get a chance later. I think you’re a fine officer, and Winona’s son is lucky to have you by his side.”

The Vulcan quirked an eyebrow at such a human gesture, but took her proffered hand and shook it. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” he said, and then he turned and made his way quickly back towards the facility, disappearing after a moment behind the cloaking shield. The Andorian looked after him silently, silver eyes inscrutable.

Spock made his way quickly through the facility and located Lieutenant Hendorff, who had beamed to the surface to oversee the safety of the Enterprise work crews. How ironic it was that the security chief found himself so far away from where he was actually needed.

“Lieutenant Hendorff, a moment if you please,” said Spock. He drew the burly man off to one side so they were out of earshot.

“Yes, Commander, what is it?” Hendorff had good instincts, and he picked up on the tightness in his commanding officer’s voice immediately.

“Lieutenant, make every effort you can to contact the Enterprise. Commandeer the communications equipment of this facility if necessary. I fear there may be something...bad...happening on the ship. My communication with the captain was cut off unexpectedly, and I have been unable to reestablish a connection.”

“What are you going to do, Sir?” asked Hendorff.

“A dire situation requires me to board the Oberth...I cannot tell you more,” Spock spoke quickly, overriding the man’s inquiry. “You have your orders.”

“Yes, Sir, right away,” nodded Hendorff, and he moved off in the direction of the surface.

Spock took off in the other direction, towards the hangar bays and the Andromeda. Perhaps serendipitously, he did not encounter a single Romulan, but like Sozon, it only increased his level of concern. A feeling of tension was almost palpable in the heated, dry air, and Spock had not stopped monitoring the intermittent waves of Jim’s presence that he had tucked to the back of his mind. Mentally, he sent forward reassurance and strength, hoping against hope that Jim would feel it and know that Spock was by his side, however metaphorically.

The shuttlecraft was the largest craft in the hangar, the two other vehicles being much smaller transportation hovercraft meant for travel over the surface of the planet only. It was a standard issue Federation vessel, and Spock was relieved to find that it was unlocked. The side hatch slid open when he lay his hand on the access panel and lights came on automatically throughout the compartment. He made a quick study of the bare interior and spotted the access hatch on the floor of the craft, beyond which were housed the majority of the electronics and propulsion machinery. He pulled up the panel, and looked in dismay at the contents, which were arranged so effectively that there was barely any space between the various components.

Suddenly, from outside the shuttle, he could hear voices approaching from the far side of the hangar. He could easily pick out Lieutenant Sozon’s high, flute-like tones, and the low rumble of a male human’s voice. The low tone indicated he was quite large.

Spock replaced the hatch swiftly and silently, and looked around methodically. Above him were compartments built into the bulkheads of the vessel, normally meant for storing space suits and other emergency supplies. He assessed them critically. If the purpose of the shuttlecraft had been recommissioned in order to carry a large and heavy object, it made logical sense that everything Captain Howard deemed ‘non-essential’ would be removed from the vessel to lighten the overall weight as much as possible.

He clicked open a compartment that seemed large enough to hold a slender humanoid, with only some minor contortion necessary. It was empty.

“Where are all the Romulans?” Sozon looked around, “This is really suspicious.”

“Ah, who cares,” growled Lieutenant Hayz, dismissively, “Those slant brows give me the creeps. Even worse than those green goblins.”

“Haha,” laughed Lieutenant Kramer, “Good joke, Spiderman!”

“What-man?” Hayz scowled at Kramer with a scornful look on his face. They had stopped by the back of the shuttlecraft, and Sozon deliberately tried not to peer into the windows to see if she could spot a certain slender figure in science blues.

“Holy shit! You don’t know Spiderman? It’s a classic, man! Timeless literature!” said the smaller man, and he reached out and activated the control panel. There was a mechanical whirring, and the bifold doors parted and folded in on themselves. A gangplank extended at the same time.

“Amazing! I didn’t know you could read,” sneered Sozon. “By the way, why wasn’t I notified that you’d already collected the device?” She eyed the large, rather squat contraption, sitting on the hover pallet like an overweight torpedo that had really let itself go. It was a dull, dark grey metal, and looked nothing like the agent of widespread destruction that it was. 

“Ohhh, the Captain didn’t tell you, did he,” drawled Kramer, “Well, I guess he wanted to make sure that the payload was installed correctly.”

“I’m the Chief Science Officer; it’s my responsibility,” said Sozon, severely.

“Howard doesn’t seem to think you can handle it, especially since you couldn’t figure out the correct formula in the first place,” he said with a nasty leer on his sallow face.

“Yeah, what’s with that, anyway? I thought you had a degree in applied mathematical crystallography,” said Hayz, looming over the Andorian.

Sozon blanched, but her eyes were hard. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said through gritted teeth, “I tried my hardest to figure it out. I just needed a bit more time, that’s all.”

“Well, whatevs, let’s get this puppy onboard so we can get off this creepy planet. I can’t wait to see the Admiral’s face when--” said Kramer, but he was stopped short by the hover pallet bumping into his legs. “Hey, watch where you’re moving that thing!” he shouted at Hayz, who returned the outburst with a baleful stare.

“The Admiral what?” asked Sozon, her antennae twitching slightly.

“The Admiral nothing,” growled Hayz, “It’s just another one of his stupid, incomprehensible jokes.”

Kramer ran up the gangplank and turned back to help Hayz, who carefully maneuvered the pallet onto the shuttlecraft, walking slowly behind it, ignoring his colleague’s impatient hand motions. Sozon watched the both of them with narrowed eyes. They were like a strange, twisted comedic duo, or like the characters Tweedledee and Tweedledum from a children’s story that used to be Winona’s favourite, except that Kramer was small, nervous and overflowing with an unhealthy sort of manic energy, and Hayz was slow, deliberate and probably much smarter than he looked. Whatever the analogy, Sozon knew they were dangerous and unpredictable as a unit.

She glanced around the shuttlecraft’s compartment, but saw no sign of the vessel having been boarded prior to their arrival. The men had moved up to the cockpit, continuing their noisy, contentious banter, and had left her to lock down and secure the pallet and close the aft doors.

“Everything is secure back here,” Sozon reported eventually, and slid into a jumpseat near the rear of the cabin, buckling herself in. Lieutenant Hayz barely nodded an acknowledgement, but he powered up the craft and with a slight lurch, it lifted off the hangar floor. As it taxied slowly out of the facility and into the strangely shadowless landscape beyond, Sozon gripped her knees hard, mentally willing her heartbeat to slow even though she could feel it beating high and fast in her breast. In the compartment above her head, Spock slowed his breathing and heartbeat too, utilizing meditation techniques that would keep him motionless for the duration of the flight deep into enemy territory.

* * *

Lieutenant Uhura was keeping up a steady stream of reports as they came in from various parts of the ship, and the bridge crew bunkered down. They had managed to get several decks sealed off, but Romulans had infiltrated nonetheless, and Jim was alternating between barking orders and communicating with Scotty in Engineering, and Dr. McCoy, who had successfully secured Sickbay and was now enroute to the bridge.

“A fire has broken out on Deck 5, section D,” the lieutenant reported, “Automatic safety procedures have been activated.”

“Scotty,” called Jim, pressing a button on the nearest console, “What’s happening down there? Give me a status report.”

“There was a wee scrum, Captain,” reported Scotty, “But we gave the scunners what fer! They were attempting teh access the secondary navigational control centre, but all’s secure down here fer noo, Sir.”

“Were any of them killed, Mr. Scott?”

“Aye, Sir, there were a few fatalities among the Romulans, but they gave me no choice. Regrettable, but no one tries teh take oor lady without serious consequences.”

“Understood, I take full responsibility. Keep me updated, Kirk out,” said Jim, grimly. He flicked the channel and attempted to locate Dr. McCoy.

“Bones...can you hear me? Where are you?”

“Heading your way, Jim,” replied the doctor, tersely. He sounded as if he were in a narrow, echoing space. “I’m about a deck below you, crawling through the jefferies tube ‘cus the turbolifts are in lockdown…” there was some muffled cursing and something metallic clanged. “Why don’t they make these more spacious? It’s hotter than forty hells in here and I’m sweatin’ like a whore in church!”

Jim smiled despite himself at his friend’s classic Southern witticisms. “Be careful, Bones. If the Romulans don’t take you out first, you--” but he was interrupted when McCoy hissed over the comm.

“Jim! I’ve reached your level,” he whispered, “But there’s about a dozen of them standing outside the bridge doors where I am, portside. They’ve got some kind of mechanism that I think they’re going to use to force the door!”

“Stay where you are, Bones!” ordered Jim, anxious for his friend’s safety. Just then, there came a high, electrical whine from both the port and starboard doors that led onto the bridge. He glanced around at his officers, who stared back with grim determination on their faces. Uhura’s eyes were large and scared, but she resolutely stayed at her post, one hand on her earpiece and the other flicking switches to continue receiving reports from the rest of the ship.

“Jim! I should be able to take some of them out from my vantage point,” came McCoy’s voice.

“Denied! Don’t engage them!” the captain ordered.

“But you’re just sitting ducks in there!” protested the doctor.

“We’re armed and are holding a strategic position. You’ll take out a few, sure, but then they’ll come at you and you’re trapped in the jefferies tube. No! Besides, they’re at the starboard door too,” said Jim, in a low voice.

“Damn! What do you want me to do, then?” asked McCoy, distressed.

“Hold your position. They’re trying to break through the doors by demagnetizing the hydraulics. We’ll pick them off one by one as they get through, and you can follow up from behind.”

“Okay, Jim. I just hope you know what you’re doing,” said the doctor.

“Trust me. I got this,” said Jim, his eyes fixed intently on the doors. The magnetic jammer the Romulans were using seemed to be working, and all too soon, there came an audible pop, even over the sound of the red alert claxons, as the controls regulating the hydraulic system shorted out.

There were triumphant roars from beyond, and both bridge doors were slowly forced open. Jim gripped his phaser and aimed, his face looking like Death on a mission.

* * *

The shuttlebay doors slid back smoothly in the aft section of the Oberth, and the Andromeda passed through the forcefield barrier that was modulated to maintain pressure and gravity within the ship, leaving a shimmering curtain in its wake. Lieutenant Hayz piloted the smaller craft easily, and it touched down gently. Captain Howard was standing by a console near the front of the bay, and operated the controls. The huge bay doors rolled back down and banged shut with an awful finality that reverberated around the hangar.

The three crewmen greeted their captain when the shuttlecraft’s hatch opened.

“Good work, gentlemen, Sozon,” said Howard. “Did you encounter any resistance from the Romulans?”

“No, Captain,” said Sozon, “It was very curious, but we didn’t see a single Romulan on the surface or within the facility.”

“Yeah, I didn’t get a chance to take out any of them cold-blooded freaks,” grumbled Lieutenant Kramer, parodying shooting actions like an ancient cowboy western with his fingers and thumbs.

Sozon twitched her antennae in distaste, but said nothing. Captain Howard and Lieutenant Hayz, as usual, ignored their colleague’s largely ineffectual posturing.

“Get back to your stations, you two,” ordered Howard, “Lieutenant Sozon and I will take care of the D-3.”

“D- _ Three _ , Sir?” asked Sozon, disengaging the stabilizing force field and removing the straps from around the device as the other two men ambled out of the bay and into the corridor beyond. The captain looked at her sideways, apparently appraising her.

“You were a good friend to the Lieutenant Commander, weren’t you,” he said.

She frowned, unsure where the sudden inquiry was leading, “Yes, why do you ask?”

“You understand the reasons why we…” Captain Howard gestured vaguely around him, “...do what we do, don’t you?”

“Of course, Sir! What are you--” Sozon began, but he continued.

“There is a reason for the peace the Federation enjoys, Sozon. The tools that are employed, when any contentious and warrior-like species becomes a member of the Federation - like yours, for instance - ensure that the peace is maintained.”

“Tools like this, Captain?” said Sozon, indicating the large, dull silver object sitting between them on the pallet.

“Tools like us, Sozon,” said Howard, bending and activating the platform so it rose and hovered. “The Federation not only requires diplomats and ambassadors, admirals and captains, but we small people, the scientists and engineers, working away for a cause that is greater than all of us.

“I am just a scientist. I never published the number of papers Winona Kirk did, nor did I gain as many accolaids,” he maneuvered the pallet out of the shuttlecraft and toward a large turbolift that connected the hangar to the cargo holds and the adjoining torpedo bay, “Probably because my work, though important, is extremely obscure. I never pursued fame or recognition either.”

Sozon kept the expression on her face neutral, and didn’t point out the fact that Winona had never once sought out fame. In fact, the woman was surprisingly humble, and when they weren’t working on some scientific project or other, she would tell Sozon all about her favourite places on Earth, and of how proud she was of her sons, Captain Kirk in particular.

The turbolift reached its floor and Captain Howard guided the bomb over to where Sozon could now see were two other similar devices stored close together on the deck of the torpedo bay. The small area itself had been modified to accommodate for the weapons, and Sozon could make out a priming mechanism on the holding cradles.

“How did you find the time…” she asked, staring at the objects, lined up like harbingers of death despite their silent, inert forms.

“It’s amazing how much time someone has when they’re not off canoodling with another ship’s first officer, or deliberately sabotaging their calculations,” said Howard, cooly, and the Andorian turned when she heard the sound of a phaser’s safety catch being clicked off.

“Captain, I--”

But before anything could happen, the overhead lights flickered ominously, and then switched to emergency mode. At the same time that the red alert claxons activated, a comm beeped, signalling the captain. “Captain Howard!” It was Lieutenant Hayz, who did double-duty as head of security as well as operations.

“What’s going on, Hayz?” shouted Howard, ignoring Sozon as she took a tentative step away from the phaser that was pointed in her direction.

“The Romulans, Sir, they’ve managed to penetrate our shields somehow and areaaagh--!” There was a sound of energy weapons being discharged, and a scuffle. The comm line went dead. Howard stared wide eyed at Sozon, who blurted out,

“I think we’re being boarded, Sir. That’s why we didn’t see any Romulans on the surface, they were preparing to ambush us!”

Captain Howard reached out and grabbed Sozon’s wrist in a vice-like grip. “All that I did, all that I am doing, is for the greater good. Now, secure the third weapon, arm yourself and meet me on the bridge!” and he disappeared out of the door and into the hallway.

Sozon glanced at the weapon, twitched her antennae back and forth as if she were thinking hard about something, and then made her way to the turbolift. As she came up to the doors, they slid open to reveal Spock, who was armed with a phaser rifle. He tossed a phaser pistol to her.

“Commander Spock! There are Romulans--” she cried out.

“I am aware that Romulans have boarded the ship, Lieutenant, and surmise that the Enterprise is similarly under attack. Come, we do not have much time, we must get to the auxiliary control room immediately.”

They ran through the ship with the maximum amount of caution given the minimal amount of time they had. Sozon gripped her phaser tightly as she led the way through the corridors, the flashing red beacons and intermittent lighting painting both their faces in sharp relief.

“How did the Romulans get aboard the ship?” she asked as they ran.

“I suspect they have a device with them that disrupts the deflector array inputs, allowing them to lower the shields and beam aboard,” conjectured Spock.

“But why not just fire on us? Unless they don’t want to damage the weapons by accident?”

“That is a distinct possibility,” agreed Spock.

“But how did they know that Howard had completed the weapons and that he was bringing them aboard the Oberth?” she asked.

“Over the years I have spent studying my human colleagues, I have drawn patterns of behaviour inherent in the nature of certain personalities,” said Spock. They rounded a corner and almost ran straight into two Romulan soldiers, who yelled in surprise. Without hesitation, Spock opened fire. The Romulans were leveled instantly by the powerful beams and fell to the deck like ragdolls.

Spock glanced at Sozon, and indicated that they should proceed. He continued his explanation as if nothing had happened, “Both Admiral Parrl and Captain Howard appear to be individuals that exhibit high levels of paranoia and overly cautious behaviour. This would lead one to surmise that they would want something has important as a powerful weapon as close at hand as possible.” They came upon the turbolift, but it had been locked down in the emergency.

“Come this way, we can take the jefferies tube at Junction 4F,” instructed Sozon.

As they climbed down the jefferies tube, Spock continued his assessment, “Furthermore, since they are not prone to trusting others, it was very likely that they would have formulated plans of their own in secret.”

“You would have made an excellent xeno-anthropologist, Commander,” observed the lieutenant. Spock did not reply, but inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement of the compliment.

They exited the tube onto a thankfully empty corridor.

“There is a 96.7% statistical probability that the Romulans will have infiltrated Engineering. We will have to be prepared for enemy fire,” said Spock, when they reached the main engineering doorway, and sure enough, the opening mechanism was not responding.

“I can override the lock, just hang on a second,” said Sozon, and she reached up to pull a panel from above the keypad, revealing the guts of the locking system. She extracted a couple of wires and disconnected them, reconnecting their ends to some empty ports within. There was a soft click as the hydraulics re-engaged, and Spock and Sozon took up position on either side of the doorway.

Spock nodded to her, and when the door slid open, they rushed inside, firing their phasers with pinpoint precision.

* * *

If there was one thing that Jim had learned from his friendship and close interactions with Spock over the years, it was to exhibit calmness under pressure. Jim was surprisingly astute despite his penchant for hot-headedness, especially in the not so distant past, and he was also cunning, brave, and a natural leader.

The doors on either side of the bridge were forced open and the Romulans immediately opened a spray of deadly energy bolts into the command chamber. They ricocheted off the transparent aluminum viewscreen, took a piece out of the command chair and damaged consoles and screens. Sparks flew and burst upon impact, and thick smoke from electrical shorts and damage to circuits filled the air. Ensign Cobbits was caught in the arm and went down with a scream of pain, and crewman Denon was caught square in the chest and crumpled to the ground, motionless.

“Maintain your positions,” barked Jim.

It had to be said that chief among the captain’s skills was being an excellent marksman, and his phaser alone took out the first three Romulans that barrelled through the doorway. Sulu and the other members of the bridge crew peered out from behind consoles and bulkheads and covered the other door expertly.

Uhura had ducked under her workstation for cover, but she was still gamely relaying information about the rest of the ship, and the news was encouraging. “All the deck breaches have been successfully sealed off, Captain, and security is rounding up the last few Romulans.”

“Good to hear, Lieutenant,” said Jim, “Run a scan on Romulan biosignatures through every inch of the ship. I want to make sure we have no stowaways.”

He turned his attention to the remaining aggressors who were clustered just beyond both doorways, seeking cover from the phaser fire that was coming from both sides of the corridor now, since McCoy and counterparts on the starboard section were preventing any escape routes from the rear. Only a third remained of the main Romulan boarding party that had tried for the bridge.

“tr’Chelok, I suggest you surrender,” Jim called out, “Your plan has failed, your soldiers are being rounded up as we speak.”

There was sudden silence beyond the doorway, and then a figure stepped out from behind the smoking and phaser-burn marked entrance onto the bridge. Jim immediately trained his phaser on him, and his intense blue gaze was as steely as his voice, “Tell your men to stand down and drop their weapons,” he ordered.

tr’Chelok glared hard at him, but barked an order in Romulan, and there was a clatter as firearms were lowered to the floor of the ship. Jim signalled to Sulu with a jerk of his head, and the lieutenant moved forward to divest the Romulan leader of his sidearm and his sword.

“You are to be commended, Captain Kirk,” said tr’Chelok, “Your crew is highly disciplined despite our numbers and the element of surprise.”

“I make a point of making sure my crew is well prepared,” Jim replied tersely, “Now, do you want to tell me why you’ve boarded my ship? Or should I take a guess?”

“What is happening is larger than you and your solitary ship, Captain,” sneered tr’Chelok, “You humans are all so small-minded, so wrapped up in yourselves and your dreams of Utopia. Your  _ Federation _ is weak, and will be conquered.”

“Oh, so this is a good ol’ fashioned hostile takeover, is it? And the bomb and the weapons? Planning to wipe out the Federation using weapons that we ironically helped you build? Why go to all the trouble to play friends?”

“Like I said...so small-minded,” spat the Romulan leader, “You’re the centre of your own universe and disregard the multitude out there in the galaxy...all the powers that are so much stronger than you!”

“Why not just destroy the Enterprise then? Take it out with your  _ superior strength _ ...and the Oberth too,” Jim narrowed his eyes and then realization dawned. His brilliant gaze glittered in the semi-darkness of his wrecked bridge, “...No! You need this ship intact, don’t you! And let me guess, the bomb is on the Oberth. You were trying to commandeer both Starfleet ships in some sort of cover operation so you could infiltrate Federation space undetected!”

tr’Chelok drew himself up to his full height and he curled his lip in a hideous grin, but didn’t say anything. Around the two men, their subordinates shifted uneasily. From where he was standing, Jim could see McCoy in the corridor beyond, phaser trained on Neral and the others. His eyes slid back to tr’Chelok.

“What? No grandiose monologue telling me how wrong I am?” demanded Jim, “Or is that because I’m right?”

“Unfortunately, you are not correct, Captain Kirk. Try as you might, your miniscule world view cannot fathom the greater glory that has already been set in motion, and that your precious Federation has unwittingly played a part in.”

Jim’s jaw clenched in anger, “Enough! I don’t negotiate with terrorists. Take them all to the brig,” he ordered.

The Romulan laughed then, a cold, strident sound, “Terrorists? No, my dear Captain Kirk, it is you who will be labelled terrorists.”

“Take him out of my sight,” said Jim with finality.

* * *

Four Romulans had commandeered the modest engineering room. They were in the process of attempting to override the security encryption at the operations consoles that were spaced at regular intervals amongst the pipes, coolant vats and safety railings that comprised the nerve centre of the ship. Spock hit two standing by the warp core casing in quick succession before they realized what was happening, but the lieutenant was winded by a large soldier after she had stunned his compatriot who was standing beside him.

He charged at her and rammed her in the solar plexus, making her double over and drop her phaser. It was kicked swiftly out of her reach as he came at her. Sozon grappled with him in desperation, and he was on the verge of overpowering her when Spock appeared from behind and applied a Vulcan neck pinch to the join where the shoulder met his neck. The Romulan sighed and dropped like a stone.

Sozon panted, trying to catch her breath, and looked around. The Oberth’s Chief Engineer, Lieutenant Pak, was lying crumpled and inert on the grilled floor near the one of the warp manifolds. “He must have been trying to manually lock them out,” she said, softly, shifting his body so it lay flat on the floor as if he were just sleeping. “He was a good man. In the same position as me, possibly, though I never managed to find out for sure.”

Two other engineering personnel had also been killed by the Romulan soldiers, and lay, arms and legs akimbo, one slumped over a railing and the other sprawled by the small weapons cabinet. “It seems they did not have time to mount an offensive. The Romulans must have beamed directly into Engineering,” observed Spock.

They locked the Romulans’ stunned, unconscious forms in an unused storage closet. Sozon shook her head, “It’s unfair that we have only stunned them, but they killed my crewmates,” she said bitterly. 

“We are not killers,” replied Spock, simply.

They sealed all the possible entries into the area, and moved over to the small alcove that housed the secondary controls for the ship.

“This might take some time, Commander. We’re going to have to do this so they don’t take notice until it’s too late,” said Sozon.

“I will work on disabling the internal computer controls for the detonators while you attempt to gain control of the ship.” Spock moved to a console by the wall and pressed a few buttons. “Computer, locate the control mechanism for the three dilithium weapons most recently installed, and produce a schematic,” he ordered.

While bending over her console, Sozon asked, “Do you think Howard and the others will be successful in regaining control of the ship?”

“It is possible. The Romulans likely sent more of their soldiers over to the Enterprise, which is the larger ship with a greater crew complement, leaving a smaller contingent to overpower this ship. However, I would not underestimate the tenacity of the Romulan race when it comes to military maneuvers.”

“Are you always so verbose?” asked the lieutenant, with a small smile.

“I merely seek to provide the most accurate information possible in my discourse. There are many situations that could be misinterpreted due to inattention to all the facts available.”

“That is very logical of you, Commander,” she remarked.

“As my crewmates continually remind me, though they do not seem to take it under their own advisement,” said Spock, a tad ruefully, and as he worked to disentangle the detonator controls from the ship’s computer encoding, he cast his mind back to Jim and their ship.

He located the blue wave in his psyche, now no longer darkly mottled with panic and anger, but burning almost white hot with his captain’s immense force of will. Spock hoped that it meant that the Enterprise had resisted the Romulan takeover, and he pushed forward his thoughts.  _ Jim, my Jim. Hear me though you cannot respond. I am on the Oberth which has also been boarded by Romulans. Lieutenant Sozon and I are attempting to gain control of the ship and disable the detonators. There are three bombs, Jim, and I fear we may not be free of the worst of it. _

Somehow, Spock hoped to convey the need to decipher the entirety of the mystery. He was absolutely confident that his captain’s brilliant mind would not fail them. Even though they were apart, the Vulcan sent his strength and drew strength from his bondmate’s bright, passionate katra that now resided in part within him. They were each other’s guiding light, working in perfect tandem though they were physically hundreds of kilometers from each other.  _ Feel me, Jim. _ And there was a whisper of a response, a feather-light tickle of a reaction that brushed his mind in reply.

On the bridge of the Enterprise, Uhura and Lieutenant Hendorff had managed to make contact with each other, and the entirety of the Enterprise crew were now onboard and dealing with the aftermath of the failed Romulan takeover.

“I want all available power to the deflector array, Mr. Chekov,” ordered Jim, “keep it on a modulating frequency so we don’t have any more nasty surprises. And keep an eye on those two remaining warbirds. We have their commander now, but they might attempt some sort of rescue.”

He turned to Uhura, “Lieutenant, see if you can contact the Oberth. We need to find out their status.”

“Yes, Sir,” she replied with intense concentration. Neither of them needed to be reminded that the person they both held most dear was aboard the beleaguered science vessel.

Jim called the doctor over for a conference, but then gasped suddenly.

“Jim?” McCoy looked askance at his friend, and reached out to grab his forearm when he noticed his eyes, which had become unfocused, “What is it?”

“...Spock,” Jim breathed, “He’s speaking to me.”

“What?! How is that even possible?” the doctor was incredulous.

“I can’t explain right now, will take too long,” murmured Jim, a little dazed, “But he’s fine. He’s on the Oberth...the Romulans as I suspected have taken over that ship...no luck with the detonators yet.” He shivered, feeling a tingling that started at the base of his neck and spread both up to the crown of his head and down his spine, leaving a trail of spreading warmth.

“What was that?!” shouted McCoy, starting to panic slightly.

“I dunno...I thought I just felt…” Jim frowned, but inexplicably, he felt more confident in himself than he had in months. He focused on the doctor.

“Bones, what did tr’Chelok mean when he said we’d be labelled terrorists?”

“How the hell should I know? I’m a doctor, not a mind-reader,” McCoy groused, feeling vaguely irritated that Spock now seemingly had some sort of direct feed into the captain’s brain.

“Captain, I cannot reach the Oberth. They are not responding to our hails,” reported Uhura.

“That’s because there are Romulans there too...and I’m guessing they were successful where they weren’t here,” replied Jim, darkly.

“Keptin!” called Chekov, “Ze Oberth iz powering up and iz moving out of orbit! Zey have gone to warp! And ze warbirds have cloaked!”

“Plot their trajectory, Mr Chekov! Where are they headed?” Jim walked quickly over to the helm and looked over the ensign’s shoulder.

“Zey are headed in ze direction of...Romulan space, Sir,” reported Chekov in a confused voice, “Why?”

“Lay in a pursuit course, Mr. Sulu! Catch up to them before they hit the Neutral Zone!” ordered Jim, turning and returning to his command chair, which was now slightly worse for wear.

“Aye, aye, Sir,” the helmsman obeyed.

Jim gripped the armrests with determination, “Punch it,” he said.

The Enterprise’s twin nacelles whined with surging power, their huge turbines spinning and emitting pale blue energy like a billion shards of ice scattered across a star-speckled, inky backdrop. Then space time stretched and distorted in an eye-watering display, and enfolded the ship in a warp bubble as the engines engaged. They shot after the Oberth, leaving only silence, and the ruminating, grumbling planet in its rubble-strewn system far behind.

McCoy stood to the left of the command chair as Jim muttered, “Terrorists...terrorists…” and stared into the middle distance, licking his lips deep in thought. The doctor feared that the recent stressful situations were doing a number on his captain’s brain, and surreptitiously reached for his medical tricorder.

“Bones,” said Jim suddenly, startling the other man, “Let’s go down and talk to our Romulan commander.”

“What, now?! When we’re in hot pursuit of a stolen ship and a weapon of mass destruction?” asked McCoy, incredulously.

“I’ve got a theory,” replied Jim, and he jumped up out of his seat, “Come on. Mr. Sulu, you have the conn.”

“Aye, aye, Sir,” came Sulu’s perennial reply.

Down in the brig, the cells were filled to the brim with Romulans. Those who were injured but not killed were stretched out on pallets, McCoy’s staff having seen to the worst of the wounds. tr’Chelok sat in a cell by himself, in a so-called VIP containment.

Jim, with Dr. McCoy by his side, marched up to the transparent aluminum barrier and activated the voice panel.

“You know,” began the captain, conversationally, “It’s been said that one man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter.”

“I don’t take your meaning,” said tr’Chelok, coldly.

“I’ve been thinking, putting all the pieces together, wondering why the Romulans of all people, at war with Earth just a mere hundred or so years ago, would be pleading with Starfleet to help them stop their sun going supernova...but then, I found out it wasn’t some device to stop a supernova, but to start a war.” Jim, who had been pacing back and forth, stopped directly in front of the seated Romulan and put his face close to the barrier.

“The Romulans were humiliated in the Battle of Cheron. Your dreams of expansion across the quadrant curtailed. And so you retreated and plotted revenge, and how better to start up your bid for conquest again than to incite your population with righteous fervor, when Federation starships cross the Neutral Zone into Romulan territory, start terrorizing civilian populations with weapons that carry Federation energy signatures, and drop not one, but three bombs on Romulan worlds.”

Jim stared long and hard into tr’Chelok’s eyes, his young, handsome face turned dark with anger. “Am I right, Commander tr’Chelok?”

tr’Chelok was impressed and intimidated, despite himself. That someone who seemed so green, so un-tested by battle, just a babe freshly weaned from his mother’s breast, could have figured out all the secrets held deep in the war-hardened warrior’s chest, was inconceivable. He turned pale, but held Jim’s gaze.

“You were right when you said I was wrong about my first assumption, that the Romulans were going to infiltrate Federation space. No. You’re going to do something much worse, you’re going to attack your own, innocent, unsuspecting people!” Jim shouted, incessed.

Doctor McCoy was struck dumb by his captain’s discovery, and his mouth hung open when the Romulan corroborated Jim’s suspicions.

“I am under orders from a secret faction of my government. This is for the greater good of the Romulan Star Empire. You puerile, insipid humans could never understand the pride of Romulus!” tr’Chelok spat. 

“Wiping out innocent people is genocide! I don’t care whose side it is!” yelled Jim, “I won’t allow you to do this!”

Just then, Sulu’s voice came over the comm, “Captain Kirk, we’ve caught up to the Oberth, what are your orders, Sir?”

“Maintain your position, Mr. Sulu, we’ll be right there,” answered Jim, and he turned on his heel and walked quickly away.

“Heroes die young, Captain Kirk,” called tr’Chelok at his retreating back, “Heroes die far too young.”

There was a complicated look on the Romulan commander’s face as he stared after the captain. His eyes looked very old, and strangely sad, and it seemed like even he wasn’t convinced by the proud words he had so assuredly spoken. He looked around at the other cells that contained his soldiers, some lying prone, and some pacing or standing. When was the last time they had seen their families? He could not recall. 

“How did you figure it out, Jim?” asked McCoy, jogging along beside his friend, keeping up with his long strides as they made their way back to the Enterprise bridge. “I can’t believe they’re actually planning on bombing their own civilian population! That’s despicable!”

“Our side isn’t much better, Bones,” said Jim, a frown etched deep into his brow, “Section 31 was probably hoping to destabilize the Romulan government from within, by helping what they thought was a rogue faction. Let them ‘fight it out’ while pretending to keep their hands clean. Huh,” he snorted as they entered the turbolift and thought to himself, turns out that faction was actually something like Romulan secret police...a Romulan Section 31. Was this the price of peace, he wondered? Were secret wars the currency for maintaining paradise?

The turbolift doors slid open and Jim and McCoy were faced with the short range view of the retreating tail of the Oberth on the main viewscreen. On the bridge, most of the debris had been cleaned up, and other than a few phaser scorch marks, it looked undamaged, all shining transparencies and glossy panelling, a myriad of electronic lights scintillating like tiny stars.

Jim slid into his chair and swiveled it to face the screen, and the doctor took up his position, standing to the left side of him. The captain pressed a button on his armrest and it chirruped, signalling a ship-wide broadcast.

“All hands, battle stations,” he ordered, “Red alert!”

In his mind, he threw forward all the mental strength he possessed, not knowing if the message would be relayed...we’re coming to get you, Spock, hang on!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter nine title is from Shakespeare's Hamlet
> 
> Phew! Sorry for the slight delay in getting this chapter up. It's a long one, and heavy on plot, but I hope the pacing moves quickly enough that you don't notice the length. :) A lot of research went into this chapter, as well as thoughts about how the various characters would react in situations of stress and fear. Overall, it was a very enjoyable chapter to write, and I hope it's just as enjoyable a chapter to read!
> 
> As always, comments, feedback, and to a lesser extent, con-crit, etc. are welcomed. Find me hanging out on Twitter @fauxrugged. Always looking for more mutuals. :)


	10. Cry 'Havoc!,' and let slip the dogs of war

“We’ve got to disable that ship somehow, but be careful not to accidentally set off the bombs,” said Jim.

“But I thought you said they needed detonators…” said McCoy, staring at the viewscreen and the science ship ahead of them.

“With the amount of super-charged dilithium in each one, they won’t need detonators to set them off if they’re sufficiently damaged--” but any further thoughts he had on the matter were curtailed when the ship suddenly shuddered and rocked horribly, dropping abruptly out of warp with a stomach-dropping lurch.

“Romulan warbird just materialized off our port bow, Keptin! Zey are firing on us,” yelled Chekov.

“How could they?! We were at warp!” sputtered McCoy, incredulously.

“They must have been keeping level and tracking us somehow,” replied Jim, grimly.

“Maneuvering to compensate,” said Sulu, one hand on the throttle and the other recalculating the telemetry.

“Very good, Mr. Sulu!” said Jim, gratefully.

Seatbelts engaged on the helm deck, effectively keeping Jim, Sulu and Chekov in their seats, but Dr. McCoy was left to hang on as best he could to the railing that encircled the captain’s platform.

The ship rocked violently again, and Chekov called out, “Anozzer warbird iz attacking from our starboard stern, Keptin! Zey are attempting to flank us!”

“Evasive maneuvers!” ordered Jim, “Let’s see if we can get a phaser lock on them!” There was a volley of explosions that hit both sides of the ship simultaneously, and threw anyone not strapped in, or hanging onto a console or railing, off their feet.

“Shields down to 50%,” reported Chekov.

“Divert more power to the deflector array,” said Jim. “Target their weapons systems!”

“Phasers coming online now, Keptin.”

“Fire when ready!”

There was an answering spread of brilliant orange coloured energy bolts that released from the Enterprise, hitting one ship, but missing the other. “Re-engage!” yelled Jim.

He turned to the science station, “Ensign, keep tracking the Oberth, don’t lose sight of it!”

“Yes, Sir!” cried the junior officer, and he scrambled to comply. They were rocked sideways again, and one of the tertiary EPS conduits on the aft station blew, sending a plume of smoke and sparks into the air.

“They hit us with a photon torpedo, Sir,” called an officer at the secondary tactical console. “More enemy fire incoming!”

The hull of the Enterprise juddered alarmingly as she withstood the next assault.

“We’ve lost starboard shields, Keptin!” said Chekov, “Ay yi yi, zis iz bad! Port shields down to 20%!”

“Divert auxiliary power to stabilize the array, get those shields back up!” barked Jim. “I need weapons! Tactical!”

“Photon torpedos primed and ready, Sir!”

“Target both warbirds’ propulsion systems, maybe we can disable them and get after the Oberth. Fire!” The torpedoes hit their mark, and the surrounding space was filled with clouds of vapour and debris.

“We managed to take out zeir shields and affect minor damage to both ships’ propulsions, Sir!” reported Ensign Chekov, triumphantly, but his glee was short-lived as another volley fired from both ships slammed into multiple sections of the Enterprise.

Jim squinted through the smoke that was pouring from one of the power manifolds. He could see the doctor bending over a crewman who had severe burns from an exploded conduit. “Damage report!” he demanded.

“Our shields are offline, Sir! Attempting to reroute power!”

“Mr. Scott!” Jim punched the comm button and called down to Engineering, “Can you get us more power?”

“I can try diverting some juice from the impulse engines, Sir, but I cannae promise moar than a 30% increase right noo,” came Scotty’s brogue.

“I’ll take everything you can give me!” shouted Jim. However, before power could be diverted, the ship gave an ominous shudder and lurched nauseatingly sideways as if caught in a web.

“The Romulans have engaged zeir tractor beams!” reported Chekov.

“They want to make sure we can’t go after the Oberth! Mr. Sulu, reverse thrusters. Can you try and break us free?” Jim stared hard at the readings scrolling on the side of the main viewscreen, which showed the other starship edging ever closer to the Neutral Zone. 

“No Sir! We’re stuck!” said Sulu, after trying multiple recalibrations of the thrusters, desperation thick in his voice.

“Wait...a tractor beam is just aligned gravitons,” Jim’s look grew thoughtful, “Mr. Chekov, can you try polarizing the hull? It might disrupt their beam.”

“If we can create an electromagnetic field around ze Enterprise...” Chekov bent over his console, his eyes bright with fervent zeal, punching in numbers, “...adjust the computations to emit a wide band…” He turned to the captain, triumphant, “Ya, ya! I can do zat! I can do zat!”

“Get on it!” ordered Jim, and the bridge crew looked on, astounded and hopeful as the young ensign’s fingers flew over the screens.

“Initializing...now!” Chekov called out after too many seconds. The whole ship convulsed and shook, and many crewmembers swore that they could feel their hair standing on end from the electrical charge that suddenly swept through the exterior plating of the vessel, but it worked. The Enterprise broke free of the Romulan restraints, causing a feedback loop that damaged both enemy ships, and shot forward at warp.

“Ё моё,” breathed the ensign, as they barrelled on in pursuit of the Oberth, “...I can’t believe it worked!”

Jim, who overheard, quirked a half-smile, a dimple forming in his left cheek.

On the Oberth, Lieutenant Sozon had managed to patch in a feed to the bridge, but was continuing to struggle with overriding the heavy encryption that protected the command centre. Without a high enough level of clearance, she was having to attempt to hack the system the hard way.

“Commander, I’ve got our course and heading...we’re heading towards the Neutral Zone!” she gasped.

“And to Romulus?” asked Spock.

“Unclear, I’ve only got partial information, continuing to try and break the encryption.” She carried on punching code combinations into the console.

“Acknowledged,” Spock’s brow furrowed in concentration, “I am still unable to override the detonation system.” The computer responded to his every input with a flat, toneless beep of denial, and had Spock been anything other than a Vulcan with unyielding emotional control and towering mental discipline, he would surely have smashed the offending piece of uncooperative machinery to smithereens by now.

“It seems like the Romulans have full control of the bridge, based on the data I’m finding. I’m not sure how many of the crew were killed,” reported Sozon, as she analyzed pieces of information from various logs that the computer automatically and continuously filed.

“Keep attempting to gain navigational control, Lieutenant. This ship cannot cross the Neutral Zone, to do so would be an act of war.”

“Is that their intention?” asked Sozon, “I can’t imagine this is what Section 31 had in mind.”

“I agree with your assessment,” said the commander, tersely, but his expression eased somewhat as the most recent command he entered into the computer produced a clear, affirming chime. He redoubled his efforts.

“I wonder what’s happening with your ship…” the lieutenant looked worriedly at Spock, but the Vulcan did not answer immediately.

After a while, when Sozon had almost given up on receiving an answer, he said, “I am confident that the Enterprise is in pursuit of the Oberth and the stolen devices. My captain would have neutralized the Romulan threat to the ship.”

“You have a lot of faith in your captain,” said the Andorian, raising a silver-white eyebrow, and then she shouted triumphantly as there was a beep and the computer announced,  _ Access to auxiliary control systems granted _ .

“Excellent work, Lieutenant,” said Spock, approvingly, looking up.

“Thanks, I’m going to attempt to change the ship’s course...but how to do it without them noticing?”

“Try recalibrating the bridge sensors to mask the new heading. That should, in human parlance, ‘buy us some time’.”

“Got it, modifying now. How’s it coming with the detonation system?”

“I am having only minimal success. Captain Howard is a remarkably intelligent man. The encryption binding this system has so far resisted all my attempts,” admitted Spock.

“If your captain were here, what would he do?” she asked.

“If he was unable to disable the detonation system, I believe he would no doubt attempt a more physical approach,” said Spock, bending over the console again.

“Bash the controls, you mean?” said Sozon, with a smile.

“That  _ is _ an option he occasionally employs, it’s true, but I believe we will not need to resort to it in this case,” said Spock, and he gave a tiny, tight smile as the computer seemed to relinquish more of its hold on the detonation system.

An insistent beeping started up at an adjacent console, sounding harsh in the mostly empty engineering room, and Sozon looked over, “Something is happening down in the brig. There’s been a security breach!”

“Evidently, the Romulans did not manage to kill all of the crew. Can you bring up a visual?” asked Spock.

“Hang on a second,” said the lieutenant, and she punched some buttons. A monitor activated with a flicker and they watched as a figure in command gold piping decorating a blue science vessel uniform wrestled with a solitary Romulan guard, attempting to wrest his weapon from him.

Sozon gasped, “Captain Howard!” She looked over at Spock, “What should we do?”

“I do not doubt Captain Howard will attempt to regain control of his ship in the most expedient way possible, which means he will come here, to the auxiliary control room.”

As Spock spoke, a tonal warning activated on Sozon’s console. “Oh no! We’ve been detected!” Her fingers flew over the controls as she counteracted the commands that were trying to redirect control of the ship. “They are attempting to regain control, but I’ve been successful in locking them out, which means--”

“Very soon, we will have unwelcome company,” he said, flatly. Spock turned back to his console and continued to work. “Continue to track the captain’s progress, Lieutenant.” 

“Understood,” said the lieutenant. She shook her head, “so much for being sneaky about it.”

After a few tense minutes, there was a trill from the console as Spock’s efforts paid off. “Computer, deactivate Remote Detonation Device, Beta-1, authorization code 98221 Alpha,” he commanded.

_ Remote Detonation Device deactivated _ , intoned the computer in its standard, robotic-sounding female voice.

“Good work, Commander!” cried Sozon, but her joy was short-lived, as when she glanced back to her console she noticed, “I have lost track of Captain Howard...attempting to find his biochemical signature again, hang on.”

All of a sudden, it seemed like a multitude of things were happening at once. There came a sound beyond the Engineering doors. “Someone is attempting to override the locking mechanism,” said Spock. “Let me see if I can erect a forcefield around the doorway to repel them.”

However, whoever it was, was not very patient, because soon after there came the sound of some heavy objects banging against the metal of the doors.

“Seems your captain isn’t the only one to resort to bashing things that don’t comply with commands,” said Sozon, wryly. But then she swore, “Damn! The Romulans have managed to take control of the ship again! I don’t have the proper authorization to keep them locked out permanently!”

The banging suddenly stopped, only to be replaced by the unmistakable sounds of discharging energy weapons. “Either Captain Howard has discovered Romulans in the corridor, or it’s the other way around.”

“Have you had any success regaining bridge controls?” asked Spock.

“No! They‘ve reestablished their original direction and bearing. We’re headed back for the Neutral Zone.”

“If we attempt to shut down the propulsion systems, we should be able to halt the Oberth’s progress,” reasoned the Vulcan. “Move aside, let me try,” and he took over the console while Sozon looked on, her antennae twitching worriedly. She looked back towards the doors, where the sounds of phaser fire had stopped. The silence beyond the barrier seemed deafening.

Soon, a descending whine and cessation in the constant strobing hum of power signified the warp core being taken off-line, the computer system corroborating that fact in its same dispassionate voice. “I’ve managed to temporarily affect a power suspension to the warp core; working on initializing power limitations on the impulse engines now,” reported Spock.

“Spock, work faster...I think we’re running out of time.”

“Your observations have been noted, Lieutenant,” he replied tersely.

The Engineering doors suddenly slid back halfway and jammed where their surface had been bent out of shape by the physical assault. “I suggest we have our weapons ready in case the forcefield I erected fails,” suggested Spock. They grabbed their phasers and raised them, pointing them at the doorway. However, it was not a Romulan that stepped through the space, but Captain Howard. He bounced back from the forcefield, which buzzed and crackled when he collided with it.

His eyes widened when he aspied Spock and his science officer standing inside the room beyond. “What is this, Sozon? Mutiny?”

“If that is the way you want to see it,” she replied, “But I see it as saving two civilizations from another pointless war.” The Andorian drew herself up to her full height, vibrating a kind of nervous determination.

“And how about you, Commander Spock?” The older man assessed him from where he was standing, “Have you come to martyr yourself on the orders of your captain?”

“I do not see what relevance my orders have to you, Captain,” he replied, coolly.

Captain Howard looked down at the slumped bodies of the Romulans by his feet. “I set my phaser to kill,” he said, almost to himself, “they undoubtedly did the same.” He looked back up.

“I’ve been given some time to think...actually, I’ve been thinking a lot more nowadays...or maybe it was just Parrl’s really annoying voice that finally did me in.

“I think I’ve figured out what the Romulans are trying to do, Commander, and if you’re unlucky, the same thing is happening to your Enterprise as well. They aim to bring the two Starfleet vessels through the Neutral Zone and use the weapons that we’ve built, on their own kind, under the guise of the Federation flag.”

Howard settled an introspective gaze on his lieutenant. “You’re correct, Sozon. It seems that both Section 31 and the Romulans want to incite an intergalactic war, though their methods of going about it are somewhat different.”

“But this is not what the Federation wants,” said Spock.

“Are you sure, Commander? How can you be so confident?” asked Howard.

“The tenants of the Federation have always been to seek out new worlds and new civilizations, Captain, not to destroy them.”

“Let me ask you, then, what is the price we pay for peace?”

“If what you are suggesting is true, it is not peace that the Romulans seek, and therefore there is no sale,” replied the Vulcan, his dark eyes serious and showing a glimmer of anger.

Howard nodded, almost sadly. “I’ve been at this for too long, Commander. When I started working for Section 31, I had no attachments, only my work. The organization offered me unlimited resources with which to pursue my research, and all I had to do was carry out their missions once in a while.”

“Is that what you call it? A mission?!” Lieutenant Sozon stepped aggressively towards her captain, her face a pale, angry shade of blue. “I know what you did to Winona Kirk and the others. I know you sent them to their deaths knowing full well that an eruption was imminent and that they’d be caught right in the middle of it!”

On the other side of the forcefield, which was invisible at the moment as it was not in contact with anything, Howard stood, his arms loose at his sides, his weapon almost dangling from his right hand. He faced Sozon and said, “I know it’s too late to say I’m sorry. All I can do now is atone for all the sins I’ve committed. I took the bombs from Parrl, and I didn’t intend to hand them over to the Romulans.”

“Well then, why build them in the first place?! None of this needed to happen!” Sozon was incensed, almost crying in her anger.

“If it wasn’t me who did it, someone else would have done so eventually!” snapped Howard, “At least they won’t have all my years of research and my expertise.”

Just then, an incessant beeping started up. Spock turned around and consulted a reading, “Two uncloaked Romulan ships are converging on our location, bearing 322 mark 54, heading out of the Neutral Zone.”

Sozon turned and rushed back to her console, “They are heavily armed warbirds, full weapons complement. Also, we’ve got trouble, there’s more Romulan soldiers heading towards Engineering!”

“Lower the forcefield, I can regain control from there and we can at least escape the warbirds,” said the captain.

“The Oberth would not be able to outrun them. Your plan is flawed,” said Spock.

“Then…” the captain said after a pause, “I will detonate the bombs.” Howard’s face had taken on a grey cast, but his eyes were determined, “That way, no one will get either my research or the devices. I’ll stop this whole sordid mess, here and now.”

“I have disabled the detonation system,” said Spock, “It will take some time to re-initiate.”

“That’s not a problem, because--” but Howard’s words were cut off when there came sounds of approaching soldiers down the corridor.

Suddenly, sparks burst close to the captain’s head. Howard turned and fired in the direction of the phaser shots, shielding himself in the shallow alcove of the Engineering doorway.

“On second thought, leave the forcefield! I’ll draw their fire while you and Sozon get to the shuttlecraft and get out of here!” he yelled.

“What about the bombs?” shouted Sozon. 

“I have a second detonation device, with me,” Captain Howard glanced back at his lieutenant, his eyes somehow conveying a mute apology. “Priming the devices will set off the ship’s emergency proximity alarms. When those go off, you will have three minutes to get off the ship--” He cried out and gripped his left shoulder where a bolt had suddenly struck.

“Aah!” he gasped, “This whole place will be crawling with Romulans in a minute! I suggest you get out of here now, Commander, if you ever want to see your ship and your captain again!”

Sozon’s eyes were wide as saucers, but she shook herself out of her daze and turned to Spock, “We can take another route to get back to the shuttlebay hangar through the jefferies tube here in Engineering, Commander, let’s go.”

Whatever thoughts were going through Spock’s head at the moment, he did not share them with the lieutenant. They crawled in silence through the jefferies tube that linked Engineering to one of the subsidiary linkages mid-deck, and peered around cautiously to make sure the corridors were clear before stepping out of the small hatch-way. The narrower hallways of the Oberth made everything seem claustrophobic, and even Spock felt the prickle of fear and anxiety not knowing if they were going to run headlong into phaser fire around each treacherous bend.

“The hangar is just around the next corner, Commander, we’re nearly there,” whispered Sozon, as they hugged close to one wall and cautiously inched forward. “We just need to cross that hallway junction...ready?”

Spock nodded his acknowledgement and Sozon counted down from three on her fingers. Once her fingers had closed into a fist, they bolted from their relatively covered position and ran down the hallway, hoping against hope that they would not be spotted by the Romulan patrols that they knew would be overrunning the ship by now.

However, out of his periphery Spock saw a squad of Romulan soldiers, as imposing as dark grey monoliths, standing in the adjacent corridor. They gave a shout and drew their weapons as the two officers ran past. Sozon gasped and stumbled. Spock grabbed her by her upper arm and hauled her bodily after him.

They rounded the corner just as phaser bolts burst all around them and left smoking burns in the bulkheads, shattering a lighting panel in the process. Spock’s superior Vulcan hearing was not needed to pick out the heavily booted footfalls that pursued them closely.

Sozon slammed her palm against the door panel accessing the large double doors leading to the Oberth’s shuttlebay, and they tumbled through as the doors opened, chased by phaser fire. One bolt caught the access panel and it exploded in a rain of fiery orange sparks, jamming the door halfway open as the hydraulics stuttered and failed.

“Take cover!” barked Spock, and the both of them tumbled behind cargo containers. 

“How many are there?” panted Sozon.

“I counted four,” said Spock. He poked his head around the container, aimed and fired in one smooth movement, and ducked back down as a cry and a heavy body hitting the deck could be heard from the direction of the doorway. “Three,” he revised.

A deadly rain of phaser bolts hit their hiding place and made the cargo containers vibrate with the impact of concentrated energy. There was a frizzle in the air and the strong smell of burnt electronics wafted around them. “Shit,” swore the lieutenant.

As if on cue, the lights dimmed and an intermittent, measured and ominous tone reverberated through the ship, followed by the red alert beacons activating.

“Double shit!” Sozon looked desperately at Spock.

“Captain Howard has started the priming of the bombs,” said the Vulcan, grimly.

“That’s not all! I think the phaser fire took out the control panel for the shuttlebay doors!”

The look on Spock’s face grew thunderous and dark. He gritted his teeth and, with very Jim-like bravado, took a deep breath, stood and fired his phaser rifle at the Romulans, who had been momentarily caught off-guard by the ship’s alarm system activating.

That split second was all it took for him to dispatch the remaining three adversaries, but he received a graze to his temple and a burn to his upper thigh in the process. A tightening in his jaw was all he allowed himself against the searing pain that blossomed from his wounds.

“Are you crazy?!” yelled Sozon, her voice tight with surprise and fear.

“It was a calculated risk that paid off,” said Spock, blinking green blood out of his eye as it seeped in a thick rivelet down his forehead. “How is the console?”

Sozon ran over to the panel, which was smoking and sparking slightly. She looked at it in desperation, pressing at buttons. “I can still activate the bay doors but…” she looked up at him with a fatalistic dread in her pale eyes, “The damage has taken out the computer controlled torsion springs that raise the doors, and affected the forcefield maintaining gravity and life-support...I’m...I’m going to have to control everything manually.”

Spock took a step towards her, his mind racing to try and find a solution, any solution, to the unspoken truth plain on the lieutenant’s face. “Lieutenant...I…” he began.

“It’s okay, Commander...Spock...if I may call you that,” she smiled dimly up at him, “This is something I have to do.”

“Perhaps there is some way--”

“No, there isn’t,” she interrupted. “It would not be...logical...for you to stay. You have your duties as first officer. You need to protect your captain.”

“But…” stuttered Spock, suddenly at a loss for words.

“Please, Spock, we’re running out of time.” Sozon’s eyes filled with tears, “Winona would want it this way, for you to look after her son. You need to find him, now go...Go!”

Spock took a step back and nodded curtly, unable to express himself in that moment, and made a move towards the shuttlecraft.

“Wait!” she called out, “There’s a data chip that I left on purpose on your ship, from that first time...it contains all the evidence I’ve collected against Howard and Parrl. Use it to avenge Winona’s death, and the deaths of her team.”

“Acknowledged...thank you...Sozon.” He turned and ran as fast as his wounded leg would allow for the shuttlecraft, which stood silently like a silver and grey life raft, the angled viewports across the upper hull gleaming a dull, reflected bloody red from the beacons, the bold writing on its flank obscured in shadow. Spock activated the side portal, which slid open noiselessly. He entered, stumbled as his leg twinged painfully and reached out for the bulkhead to steady himself, leaving a smear of dark green on the smooth surface. His mind buzzed with adrenalin and he shook his head to clear it as he made straight for the helm and powered up the shuttle.

“Computer, activate start-up sequence for immediate take off,” he ordered, flicking on the sensor controls and adjusting the helm display.

_ Acknowledged _ , the computer responded, and the impulse engines came to life with a high-pitched whine.

On the floor of the shuttlebay, Sozon stood by the damaged console and willed the controls to answer her commands. She ignored the tears that ran freely down her cheeks, and tried to ease the queasiness in her stomach that threatened to make her vomit all over the console panel. She gritted her teeth as her heart pounded deafeningly in her ears, and worked the flickering and dying controls with a concentrated vengeance. The huge bay doors activated with a deep drone and swung back ponderously, and the forcefield holding in the breathable air from the vacuum of space quivered and shimmered against the starfield beyond.

Sozon saw Spock look briefly at her through the porthole, his face pale and serious. She nodded reassuringly and mouthed, “Good luck.” She may have imagined him nodding back. The shuttlecraft’s nacelles glowed bright as it hovered, turned on its axis and headed towards the opening.

“Winona, my love; Shihon, my darling sister; forgive me,” she chanted, holding back her sobs, “Mother, father, guide my hands; the Wall of Heroes does not await me, but I am content with my fate…”

The red alert lights that painted her face a sickly purple, set off her silver-white hair like a glowing crimson halo around her head. Sozon watched the shuttlecraft break through the forcefield in a curtain of sparkling electric blue, her back straight, drawn up tall and immoveable as a statue. Her lips moved like a prayer, and on her face the tears shone with a sudden bright flash of light that turned the whole universe white.

* * *

“Helm, update,” barked Jim, as he sat in his command chair, leaning on one elbow, his hands fisted and his knees apart with his feet planted flat on the floor. An aura of tenseness radiated from him as the Enterprise barrelled in pursuit of the Oberth.

“Short range sensors detect three ships dead ahead, Sir, two Romulan and...ze Oberth!” reported Ensign Chekov.

“Give me visual!” ordered the captain.

The main viewscreen switched from the scrolling telemetry to a view of the pale silver-grey bulk of the Oberth, hanging suspended in space, surrounded by two birds-of-prey, one hovering just above the starboard bow and the other in a pincer movement coming up from below by the stern.

“The warbirds are heavily armoured and carry a full weapons complement, Captain,” came the report from Tactical, “I’m reading energy signatures in various parts of the Oberth; they’ve been boarded.”

“Do you think Spock’s still okay in there?” asked McCoy in a hushed tone of voice. From her station, Uhura looked at the tense situation with eyes bright with unshed tears.

Jim frowned, his whole body rigid, mentally pushing forward his consciousness with all the power he could muster, searching for his katric link with Spock. He sensed, felt, the whisper of a warm golden glow which had become so familiar in the last few days. However, nothing more was forthcoming despite his efforts. The results, though far from definitive, were nonetheless encouraging.

“I think he’s okay...or at least alive...for now,” murmured Jim, answering the doctor in the same low tones. “How are we going to get him out of there, though?”

McCoy stared at Jim with worried eyes, “I’m gonna have to trust you on that assessment, Jim,” he said. No ideas seemed forthcoming and the doctor shook his head in frustration.

“Keptin! I’m reading a wery large energy spike coming from ze Oberth!” Chekov reported, suddenly.

“What do you--” began Jim, but then the viewscreen turned white, blocking out every sense, so even the ever-present beeps and chimes of the bridge equipment hushed momentarily; every sense except a stab of pain behind the eyes of everyone looking at the scene unfolding beyond the bow of their ship.

It was as if the universe stood frozen for a microsecond, and all Jim could compute was a sharp icicle of dread running down his spine, and the doctor’s half-formed curse dying on his lips as he stood beside him.

In the next dragging second, a massive explosion sent waves of energy rippling out in concentric circles from its point of origin, apparently from the Oberth, which seemed to have been completely vapourized. As Jim and his bridge crew tried to blink afterimages from their vision, they could make out that the two Romulan warbirds registered huge structural failures along the lengths and breaths of their hulls, the bright red-orange clouds of exploding deck plating and electronics wafting into space along with a multitude of other debris.

The Enterprise shuddered and rocked as the first wave from the explosion hit the bow, and they were, even at the distance they were at, thrown violently back, the forward thrusters initializing as the ship attempted to auto-stabilize. Somewhere behind Jim, pinned to his seat by the g-forces, another plasma conduit overloaded and exploded with a burst that showered the deck with sparks.

“Mr. Sulu, ease us back, and compensate for aftershocks!” yelled Jim, “Damage report! Mr. Chekov, scan the area; what happened? Where’s the Oberth? Where’s Spock?!” he tried to keep command of his voice as he realized he wasn’t feeling Spock’s katra at the back of his mind anymore.

“Shields down to 55%; Warp core holding steady at median output…” Chekov rattled off the ship’s vital statistics as the computer completed its scans of the surrounding area. “Uh, Keptin, I’m reading massive fluctuation spikes in ze surrounding space! Zere appears to be multiple micro quantum singularities forming along 090 mark 5.6, Sir. Coordinates consistent with the last known position of ze Oberth,” the Ensign looked over his shoulder worriedly at his captain.

“Tears in subspace?” guessed Jim, getting up from his chair as the seatbelts disengaged. “What’s the chance that one or more of them could increase in size?”

“Jim!” hissed McCoy, letting go of the railing and coming up to him, “What’s happened to Spock?”

Just then, Uhura announced, “Captain! I think I’ve got a signal! It’s distorted...trying to compensate…” she worked away furiously for a moment, and then a look of profound relief passed over her dusky features, “It’s Commander Spock’s, Sir!”

“What are the coordinates of that signal, Lieutenant? Can we establish a lock?” Jim turned to the helm, “Get me visual, maximum magnification!”

The viewscreen displayed a small vessel, a Starfleet shuttlecraft. Like a leaf in a maelstrom, it must have been light enough to be thrown mostly free of the explosion, the shockwaves pushing it ahead of the main destruction zone. One of its nacelles seemed to be damaged, and there were scorch marks along its flank, but it seemed otherwise intact. It appeared to be moving, albeit slowly, its propulsion systems damaged but not destroyed. Collectively, the bridge breathed a sigh of relief. The first officer seemed to be okay.

“I can’t seem to establish a transporter lock, Captain,” said Uhura, “communications are also not getting through.”

“Keep trying, Lieutenant! Helm, move us closer; we’ll tractor him to safety if we have to,” said the captain, sitting back down on the edge of his seat.

At Chekov’s station, a high pitched, insistent beeping started up.

“Keptin...I’m reading increasing fluctuations from ze micro-tears, one of zem is opening up! It’z coordinates are wery close to ze commander’s shuttle!”

Jim squinted at the viewscreen. The magnification had decreased the image resolution somewhat, but he could see that an ominous glowing slash, its edges indistinct and wavering, had appeared perilously close to the rear of the shuttle.

“Jim, he’s not moving away from it! He’s too close!” 

“Thanks for stating the obvious, Bones,” said Jim through gritted teeth. “His external sensors must be offline...he’s not detecting the anomaly!”

“Subspace tear iz increasing in size, Keptin! At zis rate--”

“Lieutenant Uhura, have you managed to establish a lock, communications, anything?” asked the captain, interrupting Chekov.

“No, no…” said the lieutenant with increasing desperation in her voice, “Nothing!”

Jim stood up, his arms straight at his sides, his hands clenched into fists. He stared at the viewscreen with a furrowed brow as his officers looked on helplessly. Suddenly, a calm came over him, and time seemed to slow like thick syrup. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and let it out deliberately and audibly.

“Jim? What are you--” asked McCoy.

“Shh, I’m concentrating.”

Since their mind-melded bonding, Spock could communicate mentally with Jim, his rich, low voice appearing in the captain’s brain as clearly as if he were speaking out loud. He was going to teach Jim how to communicate telepathically, but figured there would be time enough for an unrushed approach. Besides, Spock had almost cheekily insinuated that it took a lot of mental discipline, and that Jim would need a significant number of meditation sessions to cultivate it.

Well, they were out of time now, and Jim willed his mind to steady as he reached out mentally in search of his bondmate. He envisioned Spock’s unique katra - the shimmering gold like a palpable scintillation, dancing in innumerable pinpoints of the purest light all over his skin. He dismissed the fact that how, every other time he had tried, he’d failed.

_ Spock...can you hear me, Spock? _ Jim frowned and re-doubled his efforts. All around him, the sounds of the bridge, of his crew, faded and grew silent. The fear and anxiety he felt over the enlarging subspace tear threatening his beloved friend and first officer, he shoved brutally aside. His lips moved soundlessly, but he reached forward mental fingers, yelling, screaming into the dark spaces, envisioning those fingertips outstretched, extending to touch the shining katra in the void. 

_ Come on, Spock...hear my voice…Ashayam, pulau nash-veh. _ Jim was uncertain where or how that Vulcan phrase had come into his mind, but he took it as a good sign.

Like the ancient navigators of ships who used the shining and ever steady Polaris as their guiding star, Jim let himself be guided by Spock’s katra, and by the piece of his own soul that he knew was now an inseparable part of Spock. And like a clear call ringing out from an obscuring fog, there came an answer.

_ Jim...Ashayam. I hear you. _

The captain almost cried with relief to be back in communication with his first officer again. He opened his eyes and sound and colour flooded back into the world, swirling around him like the eddies of a swiftly flowing river. 

_ Spock! _

“Keptin...uh…” Jim could hear Chekov speaking, “I don’t want to interrupt, but ze tear is continuing to widen. If Commander Spock cannot move sufficiently beyond its parameter…”

“Give me the most current coordinates of the tear, Ensign,” ordered Jim. He could feel the eyes of his crew on him, but he ignored them.

“095 mark 3, Sir!”

_ Spock? Spock, if you can hear me, there’s a subspace tear right behind you, heading 095 mark 3. You need to move out of its way...we’re coming to get you...but you need to get as far away from there as possible! _

_ Acknowledged, Jim, but my sensor array was damaged in the explosion. I only have basic navigation and thrusters. I shall attempt to do as you instruct. _

_ I guess it’s too much to hope that you could follow the sound of my voice, huh. _

_ Hearing your voice again...Jim...has brought me great comfort. _

Jim grinned,  _ me too _ , he voiced telepathically.

Out loud, he said, “Helm, let’s go and get the commander!”

“Sir, warp drive is offline! It must’ve gotten damaged when the initial shockwave hit us,” said Sulu. “We have impulse power only!”

Jim resisted the urge to yell bloody blue murder. “Scotty!” he called down to Engineering, “How much power can you give us to the impulse engines?”

The chief engineer’s voice was crackly, and it sounded chaotic in the bowels of the ship, but he yelled up, “I can reroute auxiliary power to propulsion, which will give you a 20% boost, but I cannae do more than that, Sir, otherwise we risk losing life support!”

“Do it!” ordered Jim. “Uhura! As soon as we get a lock on Spock’s comm signal, we’ll beam him out when we’re within range!”

“Yes, Captain!” said the lieutenant, “I’m working on it!”

Jim turned back to the viewscreen and analyzed the readouts scrolling up the side, as well as the image of the shuttlecraft, which didn’t seem to be making much progress. “Why isn’t he moving?!”  _ Spock? What’s happening? What’s wrong? _

_ The shuttlecraft seems to be caught in the gravimetric eddy being emitted by the widening tear in subspace, Captain...I am being pulled in...attempting to compensate, but my thrusters are proving to have minimal effect. _

_ How can you be so calm about this, Spock?!  _ Jim clenched his jaw until it hurt, and perhaps due to the sustained telepathic connection, his head was starting to throb like a bitch too.

_ Losing control at this point in time is illogical, Jim _ , the Vulcan pointed out matter of factly.

“Captain, I have a lock on the commander!” Uhura’s announcement broke through the mental conversation. “Wait...I’m losing it again!”

“The subspace interference from the tear must be disrupting the signal,” hypothesized Jim, “Patch what you’ve got down to the transporter room and have Scotty meet me there,” he jumped up from the command chair and leapt for the turbolift doors. “We’ll try to boost the confinement beam and reestablish the lock!”

He called over his shoulder, “Bones, you have the conn!”

McCoy raised his hands in silent protest, but nevertheless took his place at the command chair.

Jim ran like he had never run before once the turbolift doors opened onto Deck 6. He skidded around a corner and entered the main transporter room, panting from exertion and adrenalin, and ordered the transporter technician to stand aside with a jerk of his head.

Scotty followed fast on his heels, and laid his fingers over the transporter display panel as soon as he stood in front of it. They could see the signal lock on Spock blinking in and out intermittently as the computer tried to keep a hold on the commander’s signature.

“Come on, Scotty, we’ve got seconds at best!” urged Jim.

“Aye, aye, I’m movin’ as fast as I can, ya crazy bastard!” replied the engineer, sweat beading across his brow.

The numbers signifying the increase in gravimetric forces were climbing. The icon symbolizing Spock’s comm signal kept flickering. Scotty was feeding more power to the confinement beam, seemingly with no change. Then, Jim felt the ship shuddering around them as the engines whined and decreased in power, signifying that they’d at last arrived back in the vicinity of the blast zone.

“Divert all power to the beam, Scotty! Syphon life support systems if you have to!”

The engineer gave him a horrified look, an objection forming on his lips.

“Do it! That’s an order, Lieutenant!”

“Aye, laddie, you’re the captain,” and though he shook his head slightly, Scotty complied. The intermittent beeps from the console became one long, steady tone as transporter lock was finally established.

“I got ‘im!” yelled Scotty, triumphantly, “Energizin’!”

Those on the bridge with front row seats to the action happening outside the Enterprise saw the hapless shuttlecraft pulled inexorably backwards, and break apart from the stern to the bow as it was destroyed by the subspace rift. Horrified cries were uttered as none of them knew for certain if the commander had been able to transport off the craft.

In the transporter room, Jim turned expectantly to the pad as swirls of shimmering energy gathered and then coalesced, painfully slowly, into the tall, blue uniformed form of his first officer.

“Spock!” the captain’s wide, expressive eyes, full of relief and expectation, glittered like blue phosphorescence as he eagerly approached the platform. However, they quickly filled with concern as Jim took in the state of his first officer, whose usually impeccable hairstyle was tousled, with the ends of his bangs frizzled, burnt and matted with dried blood. His shirt was stained dark by blood that had flowed down the gash on his temple and dripped over his neck and shoulder. Likewise, his ripped and burned pants were now clinging stickily to his thigh, adhered there by yet more emerald green blood. “You’re hurt! Badly!” He reached out and steadied Spock by the shoulders as the Vulcan swayed unsteadily.

“I am functional, Captain,” said Spock in a voice thick with ‘stop fussing or else’ overtones, “The wounds are shallow and have not hit any vital organs.”

“Bullshit! You’re white as a sheet and you’ve lost a lot of blood!” vetoed the captain. He called over the comm, “Bones! Get down here right now! Spock’s been injured!”

“Captain, there is no time,” said Spock urgently, “The subspace anomaly is continuing to expand at an exponential rate. We need to seal it before it threatens the surrounding planets.”

Jim put his arm tight around his XO, supporting his weight, and the look on his face brooked no opposition. If Spock wasn’t going to go to Sickbay, the very least he could do was lean on his captain.

“What do you propose?” he asked, as Scotty came up to the pair. Behind them, the doors slid open and the doctor rushed in, followed closely by Lieutenant Uhura. Spock stiffened at the sight of such an audience, though his face softened when he saw Uhura.

“If we cause an antimatter explosion within the tear, we may be able to overload the cascade, causing a strong enough reaction that would seal the breach.”

“Aye, that might work,” Scotty corroborated. “If we dumped the antimatter chambers and aimed a class-5 photon torpedo at it, that might cause a reaction proportionally large enough to close the rift.”

“We’ll have to somehow get home under impulse power--” said Jim.

“That is  _ if _ we don’t get caught in a flowback reaction,” interrupted Scotty, pursing his lips in consternation, “Yer askin’ a verra risky thing, Capt’n, one wrong move and a subspace tear will be the least a’ oor worries.”

“Mr. Spock is back with us now, Scotty,” Jim smiled, “I’m sure his calculations will prove more than up to the task.”

“Ach, weel, I cannae fault ye there.”

“Let’s get on it and get outta here, then!”

“Affirmative, Captain,” said Spock, and in Jim’s mind warmth like the dawning of a summer’s day spread and enveloped him, trickling into every sense, settling into all the tense, closed spaces that he had wound up so tightly since this whole fiasco had started, and opened them back up as a flower opens to the sun.

Jim instructed the helm to maintain a safe distance from the anomaly, and for tertiary controls to be rerouted to the transporter console. He stood with Spock at the multi-function panel and they worked through velocity and yield algorithms as Dr. McCoy, Uhura and the transporter crewman looked on. Scotty disappeared back down into the bowels of the ship at a run, to initiate the safe release of the antimatter chambers and prime the torpedo.

Working in perfect tandem, with a bubble of silence around them that was almost disconcerting, the captain and his first officer bent over the console, pressing buttons, occasionally reaching over one another in their haste, racing against the ticking time bomb of the expanding rift.

The doctor glanced at Lieutenant Uhura, one eyebrow raised and a sardonic comment at the ready, but she was staring intently at the two men with a strange expression on her face, and the words died on his tongue. If McCoy had to describe it, he would have said she looked like a parent who was seeing her only child off on his first day at the academy, full of pride, hope, fear and above all, love. Looking back at his friends, he found it curious that two such different personalities appeared to be functioning almost as one coherent unit. He could not tell who had taken on whose mannerisms; perhaps they had absorbed equal parts of each other.

And if anyone noticed that Spock continued to cling to his captain even though the Vulcan’s girlfriend was standing close by, they made no comment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter ten title is from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar.


	11. This above all: to thine own self be true

“There you are,” said Jim, appearing at the doorway of the conference room. “I was surprised Bones discharged you so quickly, I’m used to him fussing more.”

Spock turned around from the wall control panel where his attention had been directed as his captain entered. He was still paler than normal. There was a faint line of new skin at his temple, disappearing up into his black fringe, which would require a couple more sessions with the dermal regenerator, but his deep brown eyes were alert as they fixed themselves on Jim. He inclined his head in acknowledgement, “The doctor is surprisingly efficient when he chooses to be.”

“Don’t let him catch you complimenting him,” said Jim with a laugh, “He’ll check you back in for a psych evaluation.” He sauntered up to his friend, “What are you doing?”

“I was retrieving an item that Lieutenant Sozon had left behind,” said the Vulcan.

Jim’s expression darkened as if on cue. “I never liked her; she was always standing too close to you. What thing?” Spock handed him a nondescript data chip, ignoring his little outburst of jealousy.

“Hey, isn’t this the chip that contains the original mission specs from Howard’s debrief?”

“Yes, Captain...and no,” demurred Spock. He continued, “You are mistaken in your assessment of the lieutenant, however. She was instrumental in helping me to escape the Oberth.”

“You still haven’t told me what happened on that ship,” said Jim, a tad sulkily.

“I shall endeavour to explain, but first,” and Spock held his hand out to Jim, two fingers extended and the rest curled under them in the ozh’esta. Jim’s eyes widened in surprise at his friend’s uncharacteristic boldness, before he grinned a 1000-watt grin and held his own hand up, mirroring the gesture.

They pressed the pads of their fingertips together, and Jim sighed as he felt tingling warmth spread up his arm. Spock moved his fingers up and over the tips of Jim’s, caressing with a featherlight touch first his nails, then cuticles, and down over the phalanges and the knuckles. With glacial slowness and intense concentration, he retraced his route, and the hairs on Jim’s forearms stood on end. All feeling seemed concentrated just at the points where Spock’s skin touched his own, and Jim was rendered almost speechless.

“...wow,” he breathed, his throat dry and a delicious sensation stirring in his groin, “I could get used to you making the first move, Spock.”

“If I recall all our past...interactions thus far, Captain, I believe I  _ have _ been making the first move.”

Jim chuckled. He parted his fingers and pressed them in-between Spock’s, effectively entwining their hands together. He gripped firmly and tugged, wrapping his free arm around Spock’s waist and pulling him close. Then, he pressed his lips to Spock’s, kissing deeply and lingeringly, savouring the triumph as the Vulcan’s stiff posture unwound and they melted into each other.

“Captain…” said Spock, breaking off the kiss and pulling a whine of discontent from Jim’s lips, “I believe you are still on shift.”

“Eh, Sulu likes taking the conn,” said Jim dismissively, attempting to pull his lover back into his embrace, but Spock disengaged himself and placed his hands behind his back in his usual fashion.

“When Lieutenant Sozon and I were on the Oberth, she revealed that she had secreted incriminating information on Captain Howard and also possibly the Section 31 mission,” Spock inclined his head, “on the data chip you are currently holding in your hand.”

Jim opened his hand and stared at the nondescript piece of plastic in his palm. “So she was a double agent. Huh,” he huffed, mentally changing his impression of her. “What sort of information? Enough to get Parrl too?” he raised a conspiratorial eyebrow.

“There is only one way to find out,” said Spock.

* * *

It did not take long for the news of a giant explosion within spitting distance of the Neutral Zone, several severely damaged Romulan warbirds floating in Federation space, and the presence of the USS Enterprise in close proximity to all of the above - carrying in her brig a cohort of Romulan detainees no less - to reach Starfleet Command. Accompanying everything, like the proverbial cherry on top, was a priority one transmission from the captain of the starship in question, with heavily secured and scrambled encoding, to a selection of Starfleet brass and senior officials.

They convened a secret meeting in some undisclosed location or locations, and called upon Captain James T. Kirk to reiterate multiple times to a panel of inquiry, all the events from the communication about his mother’s death to the closing of the subspace rift. He was presenting a list of serious allegations - the murder of Starfleet officers, conspiracy to start an unsanctioned war and treason - among a litany of other regulations broken. He sat for hour upon hour in front of a screen, while the Enterprise hobbled its way closer to safety within the heart of Federation space.

There was a fortunate rendezvous with a passing merchant vessel full of friendly aliens, who were willing to replenish their store of deuterium to full capacity beyond what the damaged bussard collectors could do. All they had to pay was a king’s ransom in various raw materials, including a generously sized dilithium crystal from the hoard Scotty had managed to spirit on board and, for some reason, a length of transparent aluminum decking.

Repairs were underway, and slowly but surely, with a lot of cursing from the chief engineer, and a hard-assed first officer assigning double shifts, their lady was returning to more or less ship-shape condition.

The Romulan soldiers and their commander were taken into custody at the first star base they came across, and the Federation started the long and arduous process of repairing the tenuous truce that had very nearly been bombed into oblivion. Whatever Jim's thoughts were on his role in uncovering the conspiracy, he did not share them with the crew. Only to Spock did he express his deep hatred of the Section 31 organization, and his helpless anger for the many lives it seemingly disposed of on a whim. "The 'greater good' is a fallacy, Spock. It's used too often to justify the means to an end, by people in power who have no  _ right _ to that power, for the many innocent lives lost."

"I have discovered that power often corrupts, Captain."

"It's just bullshit," growled Jim, "It’s the abuse of the weak by those who should be protecting them."

"I concur," said Spock, quietly.

On one of the smaller outer solar system Earth colonies - Jupiter’s moon Europa - partially terraformed to support humanoid life, Admiral Parrl was out in his glass roofed solarium pruning his rose bushes. They were luxuriant, and it was obvious that he took great pride in them. He was ruthlessly shaping the plants with a pair of elegant, old-fashioned metal garden snips, cutting off any branches that didn’t sport perfectly shaped leaves, or ones that had fading blooms.

An incoming call notification light started to flash on a communication panel by the sliding door. Was it Howard calling to report? But then, Parrl frowned. This was his private line, and he was positive Captain Howard did not have it. He walked up to the panel and pressed the answer button.

The official logo of the Federation flashed on the screen and was replaced by a severe looking woman in an admiral’s grey and cream dress uniform.

“Admiral Elias Parrl, this is Admiral Jessica Chan.”

“What can I do for you, Admiral?” drawled Parrl.

“There have been serious allegations that have recently been brought against you in your capacity as a Section 31 operative,” she said without a trace of emotion.

“Oh, really? What allegations?” asked Parrl, maintaining an air of nonchalance, though internally, his mind started to race. His identity was known then. This was top brass he was dealing with. Where was Howard? Was this Kirk’s doing? It must be...that was the reason why Howard hadn’t reported in when he was scheduled to.

“You are not authorized to receive any further information. There will be a formal inquiry held to investigate these allegations. You are to report to--”

“Under whose authority!” demanded Parrl, anger reddening his pale face.

“Under the authority of the United Federation of Planets Criminal Tribunal.”

“You cannot subpoena me! I demand--”

This time it was Admiral Chan who interrupted, “You demand nothing, Admiral!” Her gaze turned steely, “As with everything in this life, there is oversight. Section 31 does not function independently of the Federation, as you agents like to presume it does. It functions at the  _ behest _ of the Federation.

“Now, if you are done posturing, you are ordered to report to Starfleet Command at 0800 hours tomorrow, Standard Earth Time. Do not try to disappear, Admiral, your movements are being tracked. Chan out.”

The screen went blank, and silence fell. After a while, there was the sound of breaking glass as a pair of metal gardening snips was hurled with force through one of the window panes.

* * *

Jim was fussing around the food synthesizer, pulling dishes out of the alcove, when his door chimed.

“Come on in,” he called out, cheerfully. The door opened with a swoosh, framing a tall figure backlit against the bright corridor lights beyond, wearing a richly patterned tunic in a deep forest green with a high collar. He was carrying a flat-ish, simply wrapped package in one hand.

“Good evening, Jim.”

Jim whistled, “wow, lookit you, all dressed up for little ol’ me?”

“You did specify that this was a...date,” said Spock, a corner of his mouth lifting a modicum as he inclined his head and stepped into the captain’s quarters.

“Yeah, I guess I did, didn’t I,” Jim smiled and put his hands on his hips. He was casually but attractively dressed in a collared, button down shirt in royal blue with tiny white polka dots, and grey slacks. Spock placed the package on the desk and came up to him, stopping just inside his personal space. Jim’s smile became a grin as he stood his ground, staring at warm brown eyes with his blue sapphire ones. They stood in silence, just for a moment, simply enjoying each other’s presence. After the stress of the past few weeks, it was good to have this reprieve.

Jim reached out and placed his palm gently against Spock’s cheek, the way he’d seen Uhura do occasionally. Spock’s eyes fluttered closed and he leaned into the touch, which was the response he always exhibited. Jim chuckled. Spock was like a cat, honestly.

“I hope you’re hungry,” he said, “I wanted to introduce you to some of my favourite foods, but didn’t know what you might like.”

They walked together to the small dining table which was set for an intimate dinner for two, with a bowl of fruit as a centerpiece. “If you don’t like anything, you can always eat the fruit, I guess,” Jim laughed, a tiny bit nervously.

“Do not unsettle yourself on my account, Jim. I am sure I will find your choices quite...enlightening.”

“How diplomatic of you,” Jim indicated to a chair, “Take a seat and I’ll bring the food over.”

A long while later, they were deep in a discussion about the implications of increased warp harmonics on containment, and the possible utilization of super enriched dilithium in starship warp drives, while the remains of dinner - an eclectic selection of cheeseburger and fries, cobb salad, blueberry pie, fried glass noodles, and spicy chicken with cashew nuts - lay neglected on the table.

“Jim,” said Spock, during a lull in the conversation; he got up and retrieved the package and handed it to the captain, “I...noticed that you do not have many--” he paused, suddenly self-conscious, “I mean I noticed that your quarters are rather…” he petered off, frowning slightly.

Jim, however, was delighted and blushing slightly. He carefully unwrapped the gift, and turned it over in his hands. It was a poem, written in Standard, and simply and elegantly framed.

“I know you have an interest in xenolinguistics, but I thought that a composition in English would be most appropriate,” explained Spock, “I could not find a Shakespearean quote that adequately expressed what I wanted to convey, however, so I chose this poem. It is by an early 20th Century Earth, uh, English poet named John Masefield, who wrote this particular piece at the turn of the century…” Highly out of character, Spock found he was babbling.

“I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky / And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,” Jim read out loud.

He looked up, his eyes soft and crinkled up in the corners, as he smiled at his friend.

“It’s perfect, Spock, thank you,” Jim got up out of his chair and moved around the table. He bent down when Spock turned to face him, and caught the Vulcan’s slightly parted lips in his own, arresting any further words.

They deepened the kiss, and Jim placed the present on the table as Spock rose from his chair and grasped the other man firmly about the shoulders. Jim would never tire of these kisses, so full of ardent longing and passion - he had never fathomed Spock could express himself in this manner - conveyed by the softest, most delicious lips Jim had ever had the privilege to feel. He breathed the spicy sandalwood scent of him deeply, chased by the crisp tang of the white wine he had convinced the Vulcan to imbibe, which lingered on his tongue. He bit down gently, sucking Spock’s lower lip into his mouth, drawing a low groan from the other man that sent a shiver straight to his groin.

The ever-familiar rain of effervescent golden sparks started to fill up all his senses, and this time, he pushed forward his own undulating waves of electric ocean blue, mingling their two psyches in a collective, euphoric sythnesthesiatic swell. Spock reached between them and started to unbutton Jim’s shirt, but Jim had other ideas. He gripped both sides and forcefully ripped his own shirt from his shoulders, sending buttons flying across the room and pinging off the bulkheads. Spock’s exclamation of surprise was swallowed by the other man as he attacked his mouth with an enthusiastic tongue. Jim was starting to pant with arousal as they worked their way, still joined in an embrace, towards the sleeping alcove.

The backs of Jim’s knees hit the edge of the bed, and Spock broke off the kiss to push his captain down onto the thick duvet-covered softness, removing his tunic deftly as he did so. He unbuckled and removed his pants and underwear as Jim looked on hungrily. Spock was already fully hard and the tip of his double-ridged penis was a verdant emerald, and glistening with pre-cum.

“Move further up the bed,” the Vulcan ordered, and Jim complied willingly, his face alight with expectation. With predatory grace, Spock, now fully naked, crawled onto the bed dragging the length of his body up his captain’s, the head of his cock leaving a wet, sticky trail along Jim’s grey pants leg. His pupils were blown wide, and the friction of the textured fabric on his member seemed to excite him further. He lay his full weight atop Jim and ground mercilessly down onto his lover’s own tented erection, pulling a cry from his lips. The captain trembled, relishing the solid, muscular body pressing down on him. His head was swimming from the waves of mental and physical arousal assaulting his senses.

Spock buried his face in Jim’s neck, kissing and biting the soft skin at the base of his ear, licking the tight line of muscle that ran the length from the jaw to the manubrium of the sternum, sucking at the hollow of his clavicle, and raising hickeys that Jim would inevitably have to cover with the high collared uniform tomorrow. He had captured Jim’s wrists in his hands, and pinned them to either side of his head, all the while rubbing his considerable erection against Jim’s, causing the other man to groan in frustration.

“Uhhh, no,” he complained, “Stop being such a fuckin’ tease!” Jim tried to extricate himself, but only succeeded in rubbing his already sensitized skin to greater heights of arousal. “My pants...off, now...that’s an...order,” gasped Jim, bucking against his first officer’s solid, muscled length.

“Patience, Captain,” murmured Spock out of the side of his mouth, as he rose up over him. After kissing him soundly for several long seconds, sucking the breath from his body and leaving him gasping and panting, Spock took pity on his beleaguered CO and unbuttoned his trousers, zipping down the fly and releasing a deeply flushed, weeping cock straining from its foreskin and begging for attention. The Vulcan hummed in appreciation at the sight, and Jim blushed crimson from his temple to his smooth, sculpted chest, his blue eyes bright as stars.

Spock divested Jim of the rest of his clothing and lay down beside him on the bed, pulling the other man to face him on his side. He scooched in close and grabbed both their penises in one large, elegantly fingered hand. Jim exhaled quickly as their members collided and he looked down in almost stunned incomprehension, watching Spock manipulate them both, the heads of their penises straining against each other lewdly.

“Where...where did you learn these things?” he wondered out loud, “Uhura couldn’t have taught you  _ that _ !”

“Starfleet Academy is a surprisingly ideal location for an extensive range of educational experiences,” said Spock, obliquely.

“Oh, really,” Jim’s interest was piqued, “Do elaborateaaaahh…!” he exclaimed as Spock redoubled his efforts with his hand, starting up a steady rhythm, and Jim’s cock became increasingly more slick with a mixture of their combined excitement. The Vulcan was as ever, thorough and methodical, manipulating the both of them with expert fingers.

“If...If you don’t stop, Spock, I’m gonna…” Jim trembled after a while. The muscles in his legs were pulled taut, his forearms wrapped around Spock’s shoulders and neck in an iron grip, and his forehead and nose were pressed close against the other man’s face. Spock was breathing fast and shallowly, his breath ghosting along Jim’s cheek as his slicked hand worked even faster, stroking the both of them up and down rhythmically, over and over.

“Mmmff!” Jim suddenly bit down hard on his lower lip, stifling a cry that worked its way up his throat as, with a jerking shudder of his hips, he started to cum in Spock’s hand. Who knew that Jim, with all his myriad experience, could have such a hair trigger. Truly, there was only one man in the galaxy who could illicit such a reaction, such wanton desires, from him.

In the aftermath, the coolness of the room juxtaposed against Jim’s heated skin, raising goosebumps all over his flesh. They fell to kissing again, pulling at moist, swollen lips with teeth and tongues, Jim exploring the soft skin on the inside of Spock’s upper lip, while Spock caressed the corners of Jim’s mouth that he found so infinitely enticing.

Jim’s cum was growing cold and sticky between them, and after a few moments, Spock rolled him onto his back. He ran his mouth down his captain’s jaw and neck, and paused momentarily to suck and play with both nipples, drawing forth a needy whine, before proceeding further downward. Jim could feel the scratchy silk of Spock’s triangle of chest hair tickling over his febrile skin, heightening every nerve ending. The Vulcan flicked out an exquisitely heated tongue, and like a brand over the other man’s skin, started to lick the smooth, defined abs clean of his prior effusion.

Jim fisted the sheets in his hands as his arousal was rekindled. “Oh my god...Spock,” he moaned, helplessly turned on. Spock kissed and licked lower still, pausing again to bury his face in Jim’s pubic hair, breathing in the scent of him. With careful, firm hands, he lifted both of Jim’s thighs up and apart so he could gain access to the sweetly fusty, delicately puckered skin beyond Jim’s ball sack. That sinful tongue flicked out again, and he proceeded to thoroughly moisten Jim’s asshole with saliva, encircling the hypersensitized skin, then penetrating and fucking it languidly with agonizing slowness.

Jim was rendered incoherent under such precise ministrations and his cock, fully hard again, bobbed against his taut stomach as blood pumped voraciously through it. He stared down at Spock, whose hair was attractively mussed over beautifully angled, dark brows, the lower part of his face and chin buried in Jim’s ass. He reached down, caressed pointed ears with trembling fingertips and then started to pull insistently as he felt pleasure mounting yet again.

Spock obliged, raising up on his knees. He positioned himself between Jim’s legs and made to use his fingers, but the other man found his voice finally and gasped out, “No, no fingers...for god’s sake I’m so ready,” Jim growled, “Give me your cock, now!”

“Are you certain you can handle it, Captain?” his deep voice rumbled.

“You’re such a fucking asshole, you know that,” Jim laughed, exasperatedly, but any further complaint was forestalled as he felt the head of Spock’s substantial penis press against his anus, preparing for its glorious assault. Thank god for Vulcan males and copious self-lubrication, was Jim’s last thought before Spock’s girth started to stretch and fill him. When Spock had pressed the head of his penis inside to the crown, Jim cried out in muted shock as a sharp pain shot through him suddenly, and his hands scrabbled over his lover’s back.

Spock stopped immediately and moved to withdraw, but Jim stopped him. “No, don’t pull out...just...give me a moment to adjust, I’ll be fine.” He breathed deeply and then nodded after a few seconds, giving permission to continue.

Spock gathered Jim up more tightly in his arms and bent to kiss him lingeringly and sweetly on the mouth. He pushed forward tentatively, and when that movement elicited a hungry moan, pressed in deeper. Incrementally, Spock filled his captain, who winced only slightly as the ridges breached him, and sank up to the hilt. They paused for a moment, breathing deeply, their chests rising and falling in tandem. Jim’s fingernails had dug emerald crescent moons into Spock’s back, and his sweat slicked over the both of them, but his face was radiant and blissful.

Like an unstoppable force, Spock began to move in and out of Jim, stimulating his lover with careful, deliberate movements. He hitched the other man’s legs over his shoulders to gain even greater access to Jim’s distended, aching hole, and resumed his pace.

“Aaaah,” the captain cried out, impaled and rendered immobile on his first officer’s cock. Every limb shivered with arousal and effort, and even his voice shook as Spock ripped sharp exhalations of air from him. Jim glanced up from under quivering eyelashes, observing his friend’s serious face which was now contorted in passion and pleasure. Spock’s mouth hung part way open and his cheeks were darkened with an attractive olive hue.

Spock looked down at him in turn, as if contemplating something, and then reached for his face, his fingers brushing over Jim’s psi points. “May I?” he asked, huskily.

“Yes...yes, please,” Jim begged.

Warm, soft fingertips settled above his brow ridge, on his cheekbone and along his jaw, and Jim closed his eyes as the floodgates opened and his bondmate’s katra flowed, unfettered, into his mind, washing over his very soul.

It was the most simultaneously out-of-body and deeply visceral sensation Jim had ever experienced. He could feel what Spock was feeling, as surely as he could feel his own body. His thoughts became Spock’s thoughts and vice versa. Every sensation was amplified a hundred-fold. He could feel the deep, aching fullness of Spock’s cock moving within him, stretching him ever wider, rubbing the delicate flesh of his anus as, synchronously, he perceived the tight ring of muscle which was himself, gripping his lover’s iron-hard member as it slid in and out, the ridges and the head encased in the hot, velvet softness of his rectum.

Jim’s body and mind hummed like the vibrations of a tightwire, ratcheting up to ever-higher levels of movement, sensation and sound. He pushed downward in tandem with Spock pressing upward, and the two men rocked and swayed in a rhythm so powerful and so pure, that there was at no point a place where they either ended or began.

There were no words left in the universe that could express such intimate perfection, no awareness other than the focus solely on themselves. The galaxy that glimmered outside the windows stretched and swirled away into nothingness; time itself stopped and hung breathless.

It may have been an eternity, but in reality it was a few frantic minutes as Spock drove his cock deep into Jim’s asshole, pistoning his hips so the friction between them wound ever tighter, faster and faster, pre-cum lubricating the delicious sliding within and without, pulling at Jim’s sensitive flesh, distending the petal pink ring which glistened with excitement and arousal. Jim’s own cock, weeping copiously from the slit, pressed tightly between their undulating bodies, found its own stimulation as, with a simultaneous cry that wrenched from both of their throats, Spock shuddered and came, flooding Jim’s raw and quivering hole with his searing cum. His lover followed suit a fraction of a second later, spilling his seed over the both of them.

They came down slowly, like the lazy spiraling of autumn leaves basking in the afterglow that was as warm, and as sweet, as a late summer’s day. Jim felt Spock release his fingers from his face, though he continued to feel the echo of the imprint on his psi points even later. He rubbed his face into Spock’s shoulder, feeling the smooth, supple skin across his cheeks, and sighed contentedly.

After a while, Spock shifted against him. Various fluids were starting to separate and slide uncomfortably off, and out of, their bodies. Sweat began to dry on Jim’s skin, cooling him down and making him shiver. Though he didn’t want to move, he was persuaded to at least run a towel, moistened with hot water, over himself before sinking, mostly clean, back under the covers. 

Beside Jim, head propped on his elbow, the Vulcan looked at his human lover - solid, strong and so very beautiful. His lips crooked upwards in a tiny smile, and Jim answered with a grin that lit up the heavens.  _ My friend _ , said Spock, the words bursting like fireworks into the other man’s mind,  _ My Jim; my precious t’hy’la _ .

Jim did not need to ask what that word meant, as it was etched into his very soul. He closed his eyes and fell backwards into the welcoming arms of sleep.

For the first time in a very long while, Jim dreamed. When he woke to his alarm the next morning, he couldn’t remember all the specifics, but the sensations were still there, warm in his chest. He had been having a conversation with his mother over the comm in his ready room. She was smiling, and she was proud of him.

The bridge hummed with quiet efficiency, various beeps and pings chirruping intermittently as sensors swept through and analyzed the surrounding space. PADDs exchanged hands, and instructions were relayed in low voices as the night shift gave way to the alpha shift.

The turbolift doors slid open with a smooth swoosh, and shiny leather boots clicked across the burnished deck plates as a straight-backed figure, gold uniform immaculate, alighted.

“Captain on the bridge!” announced a crewman.

Jim smiled and proudly acknowledged both his crew and his lady, splendid in all her polished chrome and gleaming lights. He glanced to his right as a tall figure in uniform science blues stepped up to his side, folding his arms behind his back as he did so. Behind Jim, the turbolift doors opened again and revealed the figure of Dr. McCoy, who walked over to join him on his left.

“Well, gentlemen?” asked the captain, “What’s next?” His bright blue eyes sparkled mischievously.

“Wherever we go, Jim, I’m sure you’ll land us in hot water sooner or later, so it’s all the same to me,” grumbled McCoy, but he was only half-frowning when he said it, so Jim knew he was in a good mood.

“Attaboy, Bones,” said Jim, clapping him on the shoulder. He turned to his first officer, “How about you, Spock?”

“As always, I defer to your good judgement, Captain,” answered Spock, with Vulcan composure. Behind them, Lieutenant Uhura smiled, her pretty eyes dancing.

Jim turned and sat down in his command chair, leaning very slightly to one side, and fixed his gaze ahead to the viewscreen with its star-speckled blanket of velvety blackness.

“Heading, Captain?” inquired Sulu from the helm.

Jim looked up at Spock. “Which star?” he asked, quietly.

The Vulcan looked down at his captain. “Second to the right,” he answered.

The captain laughed and said, “...and then straight on till morning.”

There was a whine as the warp engines powered up. The nacelles glowed in hues of incandescent neon blue, and the Enterprise gleamed silver in reflected starlight. Space unfolded and wrapped itself around that tall ship in a shimmering bubble, and in the blink of an eye, it was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter eleven title is from Shakespeare's Hamlet
> 
> And...we're done! A short-ish last chapter, but it was essential for wrapping up all the loose ends. Thank you everyone for joining me on this ride, I hope it was as enjoyable for you to read as it was for me to write it. I would love to think that the ideas that I wanted to express managed to convey themselves with enough conviction, and that this story managed to fill, at least for a little while, the void that we fans of AOS Star Trek are suffering.
> 
> I am working on an epilogue (slowly) which will be posted hopefully not too long after the new year. Please head over to Twitter and join me there for all sorts of nonsense (@fauxrugged)
> 
> As always, comments, feedback, conversation is encouraged and appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter one title is a quote from Shakespeare's Macbeth.
> 
> This story will get explicit from Chapter 3 onward, please be warned. It also deals with unconventional relationships like polyamory. This is an attempt to do justice to Uhura's presence in Spock's life, and the fact that I'm tired of relationships in the 23rd Century still looking so heteronormative.


End file.
